


how this world keeps spinning

by Raycifer



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Fake AH Crew, Lindsay/Meg, M/M, Minor Violence, Panic Attacks, Ryan's mute, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-07-26 16:18:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7581211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raycifer/pseuds/Raycifer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Lads stop in their tracks and look at Trevor, a mixture of confusion and bewilderment spread across their features. He raises his hand in an awkward greeting, and Jack introduces him. He doesn’t really listen though. He’s too busy looking at the small green haired lad who is looking right back at him, a soft smile on his face. His name is Jeremy, according to Jack, and Trevor is so unbelievably fucked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. shadows of my doubt.

**Author's Note:**

> [[song for the chapter]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E4povfmX144)

The streets of Los Santos are not kind to young boys like Trevor.

He grows up with anger and resentment flowing through his veins, all hard eyes and hollow cheeks. He has light hands, pinching wallets from businessmen with fluent and smooth movements, pocketing watches and phones and selling them to the highest bidder. The streets are ebbing with people desperate to find their path in life and they are the perfect target to some poor orphan boy. His appearance helps him out, batting his decadent eyelashes and bathing in the coos, pocketing as much money as he can.

He lives and breathes crime from the second he is thrown into street life at the age of ten, fighting for himself and himself alone. Among hundreds of others just like him, he carves a name for himself. A mantra of _I don’t need anyone, I’m fine by myself_ runs through his mind over and over again, fuelling his every thought and keeping him alive. He has never had anyone; he knows that he is the only person he can trust in a city of people just like him.

As he grows older, he becomes aware of the harsh reality of the city. People flock together in gangs, strangers forming alliances and defending each other to the death out of convenience - something Trevor has never known or needed - and yet, they're so much stronger than he is because of it. It hits him after he’s cornered one night and almost killed, bleeding out on the filthy ground with no money and no hope. The next day, as soon as he’s patched himself up, he abandons his pride and independence in search of a gang, in search of protection. He has to sell himself – his thieving skills, his charm and persuasion, his natural intelligence and quick thinking. He bags himself a gang, the Corpirate’s, and although he never trusts them, he stays. He has nowhere else to go.

He is nineteen now, and he is lethal. He develops a taste for torture, learning the methods like an instrument, and he loves it in a sick, fanatical manner. He inflicts the pain he feels onto others, the emptiness slowly expanding in his chest. The gang uses him for this, and Trevor knows it is the only thing that keeps them from killing him. He is simply a tool, useful for getting information and for dispersing of enemies, but fucking annoying to his leaders. He speaks up too much, calling the Corpirate and anyone else out for their arrogance and lack of mercy towards the other members and innocent people. It has ended with a knife to his throat and harsh words spat at him far too many times, but Trevor refuses to be obedient.

He knows he should listen. He grew up facing the injustice and brutality of the city, and in a way he is the embodiment of it. Yet he is still something close to kind. It is unusual for someone like him to still have a conscious, to have morals, and he can’t afford them. It is going to be the death of him, but he cannot leave them behind. He carries on, with his head held high and his heart on his sleeve. The gang revolves around him, digging their claws so deep that Trevor can’t move. He kills and he tortures and he lies and he is feared. He is more than anything anyone could dream of being, and he leaps and bounds his way to the top.

Then, one night, he discovers something. There is a basement in their building that no one but the top dogs were allowed into, and they would shoot anyone who was thought to be trespassing. Trevor has seen it happen three times, and he could feel his own curiosity rearing its ugly head. Luckily, he was far more intelligent than any of those fools, and so he sneaks into the basement and is hit with the ugly truth. He had known that the gang was involved in some sketchy stuff before, but he was never fully able to comprehend the severity of it until he finds a dingy room with cages of people cowering in the corners. He stands there, shock coating his features, his hands shaking, and he runs.

He runs until he is two blocks away, and for a moment he doesn’t know where he is. He looks up at the building in front of him – a three storey apartment in a nice neighbourhood. It is the Fake AH Crew’s, the crew which has been rising through Los Santos ranks at an alarming pace. He recalled his boss telling the rest of the crew about them the other month, warning them that they were not to be messed with and that they cannot afford to let them grow any bigger. A former member of the Cockbites, the crew which had ruled Los Santos before they disbanded and the Corpirate had taken over, led them. Trevor knew he was called Ramsey, but did not know anything about the man other than the rumours surrounding him and his gang. Countless heists had been ruined, and phones and wallets had gone missing, only to be returned the next day with countless picture of cats in the photo gallery. But for all their jokes, they were dangerous and clever, and rapidly overtaking Trevor’s gang. Soon enough they would take over, and he dreaded to think what would happen to him if he remained.

So he abandons any semblance of loyalty on the sidewalk and enters the building, trudging up a narrow staircase to the top floor. He knocks, a sharp rap that resounds throughout the empty hallway, but there is no answer. He picks the lock and opens the door, closing it softly behind him, only to hear two clicks. He knows that one of the clicks is the door, and that the other is far worse. He looks up, and his eyes meet the gun which is pointed at his head.

The man standing behind the gun is tall, broad shouldered and, frankly, absolutely terrifying. He wears a skull mask and a leather jacket, and Trevor instantly knows who this man is. The Vagabond. A man of legend, fear following him wherever he goes and intimidation coming off him like some kind of scent. The Vagabond tilts his head at him, and then points to his gun holster with his free hand.

“You want me to remove it? Sure thing, just don’t shoot me.” He is rather proud of the way his voice comes out: bold and low, without a shiver. The Vagabond nods, and then points to the floor.

Trevor throws his gun to the floor, not taking his eyes off of the other man for a second as he kicks it over. The man nudges the gun behind him using his foot, keeping his own trained at Trevor’s head. A second person emerges from a room down the hallway, all red hair and freckles, and picks his gun up, weighing it in their hands before aiming it at Trevor.

“What do you want.”

The words are simple, an obvious demand flaring behind it. Trevor instantly knows that the second person is Jack Pattillo, one of the most powerful women in the city and Ramsey’s right hand woman.

Trevor takes a deep breath, uncertainty ebbing though his veins, “I want to help you.”

“You do, huh?” Pattillo laughs, mockery filling her eyes as she looks Trevor over, “You look like you’re barely eighteen. How can a kid like you help us?”

“I can tell you how to take the Corpirate down.”

* * *

 

Ramsey is so much more than what the rumours say about him.

He leans against the doorframe, across the place from where Trevor stands in the middle of the room, his arms folded against his chest. He appears relaxed, Trevor notes, but he can tell it’s a façade. Ramsey is no idiot. He radiates power and wealth, danger hidden in the sleepiness of his eyes like poison and a satisfied smile of his face. This is a man who knows how to get his own way.

The Vagabond and Pattillo stand around the room, trapping Trevor and making his chest tighten with worry. The Vagabond stands by the 55-inch television, stoic and impassive, playing with his gun in a way in which Trevor knows is meant to intimidate him. It works. Pattillo is sat down in an arm chair next to the Vagabond. She busies herself with her nails, and she would appear bored if Trevor didn’t know who she was.

He questions whether or not he is doing the right thing for a second, before pushing the thought away. He is, he knows he is, and besides, it’s too late to go back now. All three of the Fake’s are looking at him expectantly, and he can tell that his silence is beginning to annoy them, so he clears his throat, only to be interrupted.

“You’ve got to be, what, eighteen?” Ramsey’s voice is surprisingly high, laced with suspicion and covered with interest.

“Nineteen, actually.”

Ramsey laughs, vibrant and howling, and Pattillo chuckles from her spot in the armchair.

“That isn’t much better, kid.” Ramsey stops laughing, looking Trevor over and examining him, “How can you know how to bring the Corpirate down?”

“Considering I’ve been working for him since I was fifteen, pretty well actually.” His voice is tense, barely restrained anger present, and Ramsey freezes.

The air around them has turned cold, and now Ramsey looks like he’s the one who is barely reining in his temper. Pattillo pinched the bridge of her nose, brows furrowed in something Trevor vaguely recognises as disgust.

“God, he always was a sick fuck. Never knew he was recruiting children though,” she speaks up, her voice smooth and low.

Geoff glances at Pattillo, before squinting at Trevor once more. “If you’ve been with him for so long, why are you suddenly going against him? I mean, no matter how much of a dickhead he is, he still protects you.”

“I’m going against him because I don’t like the way he treats me.” Trevor says, looking Ramsey straight in the eyes. “He treats me and everyone else who isn’t one of his lackeys like scum.”

Ramsey sighs, deep and ragged, shifting his feet around. “Kid, that’s horrible and all, but that isn’t cause enough to go against him.”

Trevor grins then, wide and feral. He curls one of his hands through his hair, shaking his head.

“Maybe. But I think the fact that he’s part of a human trafficking ring might be cause enough, don’t you?”

If Trevor had thought the air was tense before, he was dead wrong. The air around him had completely frozen, Ramsey gazing back at him with a softness in his eyes and his jaw clenched, Pattillo with a look of pure fury on her face, and The Vagabond moving over to lean against the coffee table. Trevor rips his eyes away from all of them and focuses on the ground, the reality of his situation suddenly hitting him.

“Oh god,” he begins, both hands in his hair as he struggles for breath, “he’s going to fucking kill me.”

* * *

 

His mother always told him that there was nothing better than a hot mug of tea to stop a bad day.

Trevor remembers her fondly. Her ebony hair, cascading down her back, framing kind eyes and a warm smile. She had deserved so much more than what she had gotten in life. She had always been there for him, a safe place in a dark city. A hand to hold. A story to be heard. A gun to the head.

It hadn’t been her fault, if truth be told. Trevor knew she didn’t want to hurt him, could never hurt him. She would tell him time after time that he was the only thing that she held dear in this life. The reason why she fought for it. When the loan shark demanded his payment and his mother couldn’t pay it, he offered her a choice. She could either kill her son, or he would kill both of them. She held the gun to his head, her hands steady and her eyes full of fear. She told him that she loved him. A bang.

The thing with gunshots is that they never sound like you would imagine them to. They aren’t exactly a _bang_ , but sharper. A deafening eruption, especially when the gun is pointed to your mother’s head.

He doesn’t really remember what happened next. He recalls staring blankly at his mother’s limp form on the floor, blood dampening her locks. The loan shark aiming his gun at him. Lurching forwards to grab the other gun from pale hands, turning it and firing. Two dead bodies and one blood covered boy.

She had always wanted him to become something, to do more with his life than she did hers. So many dreams, aspirations, a life outside of this god-forsaken city. But it is impossible to escape Los Santos. Once you are born into it, you become part of the endless cycle of despair and destruction, seeking out anything which makes you feel alive. You lose everything which once made you human. Then you die, inevitably. He had done exactly that, played into the city’s hands.

Trevor didn’t have many regrets – regrets were messy and unnecessary – but letting down his mother was one of them.

Maybe that’s why he had warmed up to Pattillo so fast. Any previous sign of animosity that she had held for him had vanished the second he started hyperventilating in the middle of her living room, and she had guided him to the armchair she had been sitting on. Ramsey had backed out of the room, pulling a phone from his back pocket and glancing back to give Trevor a nod.

“You did a good thing kid.”

Logically, Trevor knew he had done the right thing. What the Corpirate was doing was wrong, even for criminals such as him. He might be nasty and cruel, but he wouldn’t exploit innocent people for money. At least, he hoped he wouldn’t. But still, doubt clogged his mind and his chest was so tight. He put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, his long fingers gripping his hair. He could tell that Pattillo had gone, the Vagabond still standing in his spot, seemingly less tense and upright. Almost as if he were trying to make himself less threatening. Trevor would have laughed if he could actually breathe.

Pattillo comes back into the room, a mug cradled between her hands as she crosses the room and hands it to Trevor. It’s tea, and something in Trevor’s chest eases a little bit. He smiles at her, cautious and small, and takes it. He stares into the swirling water, tea leaves mixing with boiling water, and closes his eyes. A deep breath. One, two, three, four. Another deep breath.

He opens his eyes after a moment, his hands clenched around the mug so tightly his knuckles had turned white. He releases his grip slightly and looks up at Pattillo, trying to find the words to say thank you adequately.

“Hey,” Pattillo says, clearly noticing his discomfort, “it’s okay. They can’t get to you.”

Trevor laughs, bitter and sudden. He can see the Vagabond turn his head to him from the corner of his eye, but keeps his focus on his mug of tea.

“How?” He glances up at Pattillo, but tears his gaze away at the overwhelming concern in her eyes. “Once the Corpirate finds out that someone’s snitched on him - and he will, trust me – he won’t rest until he’s found them. And I’m not exactly employee of the month.”

Pattillo shakes her head and looks at the Vagabond, before turning back to Trevor and sighing.

“We won’t let him do anything to you.”

“Why?”

“You’re not a bad person. If you were, you would have stayed with that prick and lots of innocent people would be dead. We need more people like you.”

“So that’s why.” Trevor puts the mug down on the coffee table and presses his palms over his eyes, his head resting on the back of the armchair. “You want to recruit me.”

Pattillo doesn’t answer, and Trevor just thinks about how _fucking typical_ they are. Everyone in this hellhole has their own agenda, their own needs which they will always put first. Trevor’s exactly the same, and really, he doesn’t blame Pattillo. He can see her move backwards, leaning against the sofa closest to the doorway and watching him.

He never wanted this life. It was never something he asked for. He doesn’t care about the money or fame or glory he could get, doesn’t care for the torture or pain. It’s just a means of survival. At least, that’s what he tells himself. At the end of the day though, he’s the one covered in blood, grinning, and losing his humanity piece by piece.

Some people are born to rule cities, like the Corpirate or Ramsey. Others, well... They’re just blind followers, who get their hands dirty and are discarded without a second glance. Trevor knows he’s the latter; he’s aware that he’ll probably die a meaningless death surrounded by meaningless people and meaningless motives. Might as well have a little bit of fun while he’s at it.

He sits forwards, reaching over to the table and grabbing the mug. He takes a sip, then puts it on his lap and looks up to Pattillo. If he passed her in the street without knowing who she was, he wouldn’t pay her a second of his time. She’s inconspicuous, like him; red hair cut in a bob, full lips, casual clothes. She’s pale and so unconventionally beautiful it takes his breath away. But, hidden away behind her green pools is power, and hunger, and glory. Trevor can understand that.

“Okay. You got yourself a deal, Pattillo.”

She looks at him closely, her eyes narrowing as she examines his careful movements. “That was quick.”

“I don’t really have any other options, do I?” Trevor’s voice is small, and he curses himself, as Pattillo’s questioning gaze softens, and a smile tugs at her lips.

“I suppose you don’t.”

The Vagabond nods to Trevor and makes his way out of the room, patting Pattillo on the shoulder for a moment. Trevor pushes himself out of the chair and steps towards her, holding his hand out for a handshake. Pattillo accepts it, gently shaking his cold hand, and he shoves it into his jean pockets and takes a step back.

“Trevor Collins. Glad to be of service.”

“Jack Pattillo. You can call me Jack.”

The silence that falls between the two is oddly content and comfortable, and Trevor thinks he can feel safe here. He knows Ramsey, knows of his reputation and that he won’t let anything happen to him if he is truly part of his crew. He can’t help but be worried though. Pattillo must see it in his face because her smile becomes even gentler then it was prior to his introduction. God, he can see his mother in her eyes. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea at all.

He is pulled from his plethora of thoughts by a cacophony of noise emerging from the hallway. He peeks around Jack as she turns from him and faces the door, letting an audible sigh out.

“Uh… Who’s that?”

“That, my dear Trevor, would be the children.”

“The children?” Trevor’s eyebrows raise as he stares at her in confusion. Jack looks back and sternly nods, before splitting into a grin and laughing at the look on his face.

“The other crew members,” she explains, as noise continues up the hallway, “they call themselves the Lads. I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”

The door bursts open, and three figures walk in, all very different from each other. The first is lanky, all blond hair and gold boots, slightly bigger nose than average and glinting green eyes that shine with mirth and mischief. The second is slightly smaller than the first, but broader, curly russet locks and bomber jackets, freckles splashed over his face and a somewhat manic grin. The last person who enters the room is something else though, and Trevor loses his breath for a moment.

The guy who walks in is short, no more than 5’4, and well built - very well built, he notes, being careful not to let his eyes linger for too long. His hair is a dark shade of brown - he didn't think he could think of a word fitting enough to describe it - and the top is dyed an obnoxious lime green colour. Not too lengthy ( _was everything about him short?_ ) but enough to suit his face. _Oh god, his face._ Dark eyes that seemed to shine and a broad grin plastered onto his face, surprisingly unconcealed by the facial hair surrounding it.

The Lads stop in their tracks and look at Trevor, a mixture of confusion and bewilderment spread across their features. He raises his hand in an awkward greeting, and Jack introduces him. He doesn’t really listen though. He’s too busy looking at the small green haired lad who is looking right back at him, a soft smile on his face. His name is Jeremy, according to Jack, and Trevor is so unbelievably fucked.


	2. pretty little monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[playlist for the fic]](https://8tracks.com/eylsewillems/how-this-world-keeps-spinning)

As it turns out, Ramsey and Jack don’t let him have any part in taking the Corpirate down.

Half of Trevor is absolutely elated. He doesn’t want to see the Corpirate ever again, and he certainly doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of his fury. He had experienced it one too many times, and it was never enjoyable. Ramsey’s crew was experienced – they lived on a diet of violence and anger and bloody passion and they were good at what they did. They would be able to take the Corpirate and his gang down, Trevor knew that.

The other half of Trevor was pissed. He could easily help, but Ramsey discarded any of his protests with a patient smile and a pat on the shoulder. It’s almost as if they thought he was some child who needed to be protected, as if he hadn’t been on the streets of Los Santos for years. He knew they meant well, that they thought that he had done enough by coming to them and exposing the Corpirate for who he really was, but it still aggravated him.

Especially because they had assigned a babysitter to him.

Totally not because said babysitter was Jeremy.

Jack had explained the reasons for it – the Corpirate would know that it was Trevor, that he might send some people after him, that it was best for Jeremy to make sure no one got him, yadda fucking yadda. It was unsettling how quickly he was accepted into the Fake’s; barely three days had passed and he already had one of the core members protecting him.

He genuinely liked Jeremy as well, and that was possibly the worst part. He had the kind of laugh that was infectious, that could fill a room with joy in a split second and leave a smile stretching across your lips. Dumb jokes that would have Trevor rolling his eyes while suppressing laughter, and nights where Trevor would find him sitting on the couch and they would talk for hours. He was getting too comfortable with him, with the whole crew, and he really couldn’t afford that.

Being comfortable was dangerous. It meant letting your guard down, which meant getting hurt or fucked over. Or both.

So he tried his best to steer clear of the Lads as much as he could. Which was a pity, really; Gavin was hilarious in his own right, clumsy and slightly clueless around the crew. Michael always had a good time yelling at him for doing something stupid, while Jeremy would be at the side laughing his ass off. Trevor always found a grin on his face during those moments, and it worried him how quickly he was growing fond of these three.

Jack, Ramsey, and The Vagabond were another matter entirely. They usually didn’t hang out around the Lads that much – too busy figuring out how to take the Corpirate down, Trevor supposed – but when he did see them, they were nothing but kind. Calculated, but kind. Jack would smile and wave at him in the hallway, a soft greeting escaping her lips. He would bump into the Vagabond in the kitchen, see him make a mug of coffee and nod to Trevor, handing him his own mug and then leaving the kitchen. Ramsey always greeted him with a ‘hey kid’ and a pat on the shoulder, dark bags circling his eyes and a warm, but tired smile on his face. They all seemed like good people, and that’s what puzzled Trevor.

He knew who these people were. Everyone did: in a city like this one, you know all the top dogs. The Cockbites had run the city when Trevor was a child, and he remembered their names being spoken on the street like a prayer. They were lenient, intelligent men with eyes like steel and determination pumping through their veins. They had fought for their spot, and they loved every single moment at the top. Instead of being greedy, malicious fucks though, they tried their best to help. They still wanted power, and lots of it, but they didn’t exploit anyone to get it. Not like the Corpirate.

If anyone was going to run the city, Trevor wanted it to be the Fake’s. They were easily better than the Corpirate, and he knew they could easily take the city. They were all incredibly valuable, all brilliant at what they did. Seeing their masks slip on, almost like a glove, was one of the most intriguing things Trevor had ever seen. They could go from joking around to deadly serious in the blink of an eye, a deadly adder ready to strike, and it terrified Trevor. Not a lot of things scared him these days, but they did.

The first time he saw the change was when Gavin and the Vagabond took him along to get some information out of one of the Corpirate’s rats. Gavin, ever so sweet, would talk to the guy, wear his walls down with endless questions and a suave accent, make them him like he was their best friend, and then his façade would drop and he would strike. Teeth bared and claws out, he would tear information from the rats’ lips without laying a hand on them. The Vagabond stood at the back, an ever present threat granting Gavin safety. Trevor never thought he would find Gavin threatening, but now, in all his golden glory, he was nothing less than petrifying.

Trevor didn’t know what he was doing here.

There was a little garden on the roof of the penthouse that he had discovered on his second day, and he found himself hiding up there when things got too much. The crew weren’t too overbearing with his protection, so as long as he mentioned to Jeremy that he was going up to the garden, no one would bother him. The garden was nice – all sorts of flowers that Trevor had no clue what were called growing in little pots along the side of the roof, a small rectangle formed around a single bench in the middle. The view was beautiful, and he had no idea such a horrible city could manage to look so pretty. He could sit up there for hours, just staring out into the city’s depths and allowing himself to drop his walls and let tension float away.

On the fourth day, Trevor heard footsteps crossing the roof to the bench. He turned his head and spotted lime green hair, and shook his head in something akin to affection. He focused back on the sunset as Jeremy entered the garden and sat down next to him, just far enough so that Trevor wasn’t uncomfortable, but close enough so that he could feel the warmth radiating from his body. They sat in a comfortable silence for what seemed like forever, stretching out as Trevor felt every worry fly away from his body, his legs folded on the bench and hands fiddling on his laps. Then, all of it came crashing back onto him as Jeremy began to speak.

“They’re planning to overthrow the Corpirate tomorrow,” he says, voice light as a feather, “it’s a good plan, and it should work.”

“Why are you telling me? I can’t even be involved in it.” Trevor doesn’t look at Jeremy, doesn’t trust himself to, but he can feel him tense all the same.

“I thought you might like to know.”

“Are you involved in it?”

“Nah. It’s only Geoff, Jack, Ryan, Michael and two of our best mercs. Gavin’s running comms and intercepting the security cameras, and I’m staying here.”

“Babysitting me.” Trevor hates how bitter his voice sounds, how he could hear an upset noise emerge from Jeremy, but he can’t conceal how hurt he is. The Corpirate stole so many years of his life, corrupted him beyond his belief, and he can’t even get revenge.

“No, I’m not babysitting you. You’re perfectly capable of looking after yourself.” Jeremy’s voice was so soft, and Trevor can feel his eyes boring into the side of his head.

He turns his head, and was greeted by gentle eyes, creased and weary, but still kind. He can see sincerity in the depths of them, see his own reflection mixed into hazel, and he immediately regrets ever knocking on the Fake AH Crew’s door. These are not the eyes of a malicious man, not like Trevor. These are the eyes of a boy who only means well, who is genuine and kind and Trevor really doesn’t want to taint that.

“Why do you care? Why do any of you care?” Trevor’s voice is loud and brash to his own ears, and he almost flinches at the vulnerability lying underneath his tone.

“Why shouldn’t we?” Jeremy seems legitimately confused, and Trevor has to tear his eyes away from him.

“I’m not like you guys,” he takes a deep breath, running his hands over his face and curling his fingers into his hair, “you all mean so well and you’re all so kind and I’m the complete opposite.”

“I don’t think that’s true. Why did you come to us if you didn’t mean well?”

“I don’t really know.”

“There you are, then.” Jeremy spoke up after a moment or so of silence.

“What?”

“You wouldn’t have sought us out if deep down you didn’t have good meanings. I don’t think you’re the complete opposite at all, Trevor.”

Trevor tries not to notice how good his name sounds out of Jeremy’s mouth. He doesn’t need to be thinking about that, not here, not now.

“You don’t- I- no,” he clears his voice, wetting his lips as they start to go dry. “No, I- listen. I don’t...I don’t know why I came to you. I’m not... Like any of you. I’ve never been kind. I’ve always been cruel, and harsh, and dangerous - Jeremy, I don’t know how to be kind. It’s not part of who I am. I don’t think I could fit here.”

“You make yourself out to be a monster.”

“Maybe I am,” he replies flatly.

“You’re not. Trust me,” Jeremy tells him, and Trevor wants to trust him, wants to believe his soft words and feel like he can be on the same level as Jeremy, kind-hearted and gentle and easy to listen to. At the same time, his mind is screaming at him, that he’s wrong, that Jeremy is wrong, that he has nothing else but this path laid out for him, that he’s been moulded into a killer and he’ll never break out from his cast.

“Okay,” Trevor says, “I trust you.”

“Thank you.”

“I still don’t entirely believe you, but thank you.”

* * *

 

Jeremy has seen a lot of things in his life.

He has seen endless rivers of blood, seen the life fade from dull eyes and cold hands dangling from rooftops. He’s heard screams, endless and full of pain, and he has joined them on occasion. He doesn’t like to think about that, his life before he joined the Fake’s, so he just tries to repress those memories and be a better person than he used to be.

Maybe no one is really born good. Or, perhaps, it’s just being born in Los Santos. From the moment you enter this world, you are branded. There’s no escape.

So Jeremy plays along, and for the most part, he’s lucky. He doesn’t get into too much trouble, sticking to the shadows and watching passively as chaos ensues down the dark streets. He joins a gang or two, does some intimidation and sniper work, nothing too risky. Jeremy is used to walking his life on a tight rope of destruction. He’s perfectly fine with it. Then, he gets picked up by the Fake’s. They’re good, both skill-wise and morality-wise, so he stays. He carves himself a home in a place which only seeks to destroy him, and he digs his nails in. He won’t lose it.

That was before a boy with hard, scared eyes and a thin frame came stumbling through their doors, with a promise of prestige on his lips and a plead for help splashed across his features

Jeremy likes to think he’s in tune with his emotions. He’s that kind of person, and it’s something he’s pretty thankful for. So when he sees this guy standing in the middle of the Fake’s living room, naturally, he is confused as to why he feels so flustered by an action as simple as looking at him. He can’t even bring himself to say anything to the guy after Jack tells him that his name is Trevor and that he’s bought some useful information to them. His heart feels wrong – all fluttery and loose, something which he has never felt before and he’s so _confused_. He has to make sure he doesn’t look too long because _Christ_ does this dude look like some kind of Adonis; all high cheekbones and glinting eyes, rosy lips and dark hair.

Right now though, he’s sitting next to Trevor on the couch in the living room, waiting for the rest of the crew to return. Trevor shakes next to him, and all Jeremy wants to do is grab his hand and shoo away his fears. He doesn’t know what he’s been through; Trevor refuses to tell anyone. He can tell that whatever it was, it was bad. It’s hidden in the depths of his eyes, how his hands seemed to have this ever present shake. All his claims that he wasn’t like them, wasn’t kind or gentle, they were all bullshit to Jeremy. Just because the Corpirate had used him didn’t mean it was his fault. He could only hope that Trevor would believe him one day.

Jeremy’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he grabs it as quickly as he could. He could see Trevor turn his head to look at him, eyes wide, and Jeremy could barely manage a smile resembling something close to reassurance as he unlocked his phone and stared at the new message from Geoff.

“Oh thank fuck.” He breathes, closing his eyes briefly as a tidal wave of emotions hits him. “They took it down. All of it.”

“Is the Corpirate dead? Are they dead?”

“Hold on a sec, he’s typing,” Jeremy waits a second before his message buzzes again, “okay, yeah, they got pretty much all of the top dogs and the lackeys, and they cleared the basement out but – oh shit.”

A look of panic flashes across Trevor’s face, his breath quickening as he clenches his fists in his lap. “But what, Jeremy,” he says slowly, trying to conceal the dread in his voice. He knows already.

“The Corpirate escaped, and Michael got hurt.”

“God, this is all my fault.”

 Trevor covers his face with his hands, shaking his head and resting his elbows on his knees. Jeremy can feel his heart tear into two at his complete despair, and all he wants to do is tell him it wasn’t his fault, that it will never be his fault.

“No, Trevor it’s not – “

“Isn’t it?” he interrupts, frustration evident in his tone. “I should’ve dealt with it myself, I shouldn’t have brought you guys into it.”

His breaths quicken and Jeremy can see his shoulders shuddering, fingers gripping his hair in the all too familiar dance of a panic attack. Jeremy discards any previous reservations he had and pulls Trevor to him, holding him tightly to his chest as he freezes, before relaxing. They stay like that for a couple of minutes, Trevor slowly starting to breathe properly again. Then, the front door opens and Trevor jumps away from Jeremy, staring at the door in worry as four figures enter.

The first is Geoff, who looks more tired than Jeremy’s ever seen him, but he doesn’t look crushed. Jeremy knows losing Michael would destroy him, so he allows himself to hope that Michael’s okay. Gavin’s next to him, and he appears worried and stressed, but nevertheless okay. The other two are Meg and Lindsay, the mercenaries who volunteered to help take the Corpirate down, and they look just as tired as Geoff. They both smile when they see Jeremy and Trevor though.

Jeremy and Trevor stand up as they enter the room, anxiety clouding their heads as they wait for Geoff to speak.

“Michael’s gonna be just fine,” he says, relief evident in his voice, “stab wound to the side. He was lucky. It didn’t hit his kidneys or anything major so he’s going to be just fine.

Trevor breathes a sigh of his own relief and sits down, pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes. Jeremy glances down at him, concern crossing his features. When he looks back up to the others, he sees Gavin give him and Trevor a curious look, before smirking slightly and crossing the room to sit in the armchair.

Geoff smiles at Jeremy, rubbing his hands together as he grabs his phone from his back pocket.

“Okay. I need to call some people so I’m going to disappear for a few hours. Jack and Ryan should be back in a couple of hours, but Michael’s staying at Caleb’s overnight. You guys gonna be alright?”

Everyone in the room except Trevor nods, and Geoff leaves the room after glancing at Trevor for a moment. The room is quiet again, before Meg speaks up.

“So, that sure was something.”

Gavin and Lindsay mutter in agreement as Meg sighs and runs her hands through her blue hair. Lindsay looks at Trevor, a small smile on her face, Jeremy notes, before staring down at his feet, trying to ignore the churning feeling in his stomach.

“You must be Trevor,” she says, Trevor glancing up at her with a strained smile. “I’m Lindsay, and the blue one is Meg. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too. Sorry it’s at the time where I almost got your friend killed.”

Jeremy frowns, looking down at Trevor, who refuses to meet his gaze. “Dude, I’ve told you already. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Lil J’s right, Treyco,” Gavin says, “without you, we wouldn’t have been able to take the tosser down. Michael getting hurt was horrible, but you didn’t stab him. He knew what he was getting into.”

“The Corpirate’s still out there though.” Trevor isn’t looking at any of them, focusing on the wooden floor instead.

Gavin hums, turning his head to look at Trevor directly. “Yeah, he is. But he’s pretty much powerless. We’re at the top now, and there’s no way in hell he’s getting us by himself.”

“Besides,” Jeremy says gently. “He’d have to go through all of us to get to you. I’m not sure if you noticed, but we’re kind of a force to be reckoned with. We’re all going to be just fine.”

Trevor looks up at Jeremy, a small, slightly scared smile on his lips, and Jeremy almost melts there and then. He can feel the other three burning a hole into his head, but he doesn’t really care. All he wants is for Trevor to be safe.

Meg, Lindsay, and Gavin all look each other and shake their hands with fondness at Jeremy and Trevor. Meg grabs Lindsay’s hand as Jeremy moves to sit next to Trevor, and a peaceful silence falls over the room.

Jeremy can only hope that everything will be fine now. With the Corpirate gone, things can go back to how they were when the Cockbites ran the city, and Jeremy and Trevor and the rest of the crew will all be totally fine.

A guy can dream.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slightly shorter chapter this time, but that's mostly because chapter 3 is a monster so. yeah.  
> thank you all for all the support the first chapter got! i really do appreciate all the kudos and comments <3  
> i made a playlist for the fic, mostly out of self indulgence but also because i feel like it really helps build up atmosphere when reading this!  
> next chapter: trevor and jeremy are idiots and geoff wants to strangle both of them  
> [my tumblr](http://jdooley.tumblr.com/) [my twitter](https://twitter.com/raywever)


	3. you never could control me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[playlist for the fic]](https://8tracks.com/eylsewillems/how-this-world-keeps-spinning)   
> 

The Corpirate was not a patient man.

He could wait, sure. He had waited for ten years while the Cockbites had gained power and taken over his city, waited while they roamed the streets and acted like gods, and then he had grabbed what used to be theirs when they had come tumbling down. It had all been worth it eventually.

But now, he didn’t want to wait. He wanted his city back, he wanted his glory and power and everything that was rightfully his. He had worked so hard to be at the top, and then some little rat goes and stabs him in the back, and he falls. He won’t have that.

He supposes that’s why he’s in a warehouse just next to the coast, standing next to a pillar and watching a man getting tortured.

The man in question is named Murphy, and he's some low down informer of the Fake AH Crew. Not low enough to have absolutely no useful information, but not high enough to be overly loyal. Perfect.

He watches as one of his men – Stevens – interrogates him, bombarding him with question after question. His torture methods are lazy and sloppy, and Murphy was hesitant in giving up any information to them. It didn’t help that Stevens was visibly uncomfortable, and didn’t seem to be able to put up a mask of professionalism.

It infuriated the Corpirate to no end that the person who betrayed him was also seemingly the only competent member of his gang. That's partially the reason why he wants to get him. He's clever, and clever people are dangerous.

“You’re useless. Let me deal with him,” he snaps finally, getting sick and tired of Murphy’s endless blubbering. If he was going to get any information today, he might as well do it himself.

“But, sir- “

“I said, _let me deal with him._ ” He steps forward and brandishes his gun, glaring at Stevens. “Unless you want me to shoot you in the head, which I am more than happy to do.”

Stevens nods hurriedly, and the Corpirate gives an audible sigh as he walks to Murphy. “God, you’ve done a shit job. Get out of here, and don’t say a word to anyone about this.”

He listens as Stevens scurries out, soft thumps on the ground and the slam of a door shutting, before turning to the man in the chair. He’s small and pretty pathetic, shrinking as far back into the chair as he can. Soaking wet brown hair covers his forehead, and his dirt brown eyes focus on anything but the figure looming in front of him. He is unremarkable in every sense of the word, and he isn’t going to be missed.

“Sorry about him,” the Corpirate says, his voice low and menacing, “he usually doesn’t do torture stuff, but, you see, my torture guy left me a while back. Did you hear about that?”

Murphy grunts and turns his head to the side, blinking away tears as the Corpirate grabs his chin and yanks it to look at him. He tuts and shakes his head, his grin stretching wider as he catches the fear in the other man’s eyes.

“Kid had been with me since he was 15. Skinny little runt, but _damn_ was he good with a knife. Although,” he scoffs, looking down for a second before letting go of Murphy’s chin, “he was a mouthy shit. Would have killed him if he wasn’t so useful.”

Murphy’s hands are clenched, and the Corpirate can tell he’s grinding his teeth together, but he couldn’t give two shits how he felt right now. “Then, he goes and stabs me in the back. Can you believe that? The fucking audacity! But hey, at least I know who he is. And so do you.”

He grabs his gun and puts it under Murphy’s chin, watching as his eyes widen and he audibly sobs. “If you tell me, it’ll all be over.”

“They’ll- they’ll kill me if I tell you. The… The Fake’s.”

“I’m going to kill you anyway, so you might as well make it a quick death.”

It takes five minutes to make Murphy tell him. He doesn’t enjoy those five minutes – blood has never been his thing – but when he gets his answer, he couldn’t be any happier. He steps away from the limp form in the chair and puts the knives down on the table, wiping his hands quickly with a towel. Grabbing his phone, he makes his way out of the warehouse, sending a quick message to one of his remaining lackeys to clean Murphy up and dump his body.

He knows where Trevor Collins is now.

* * *

 

“Jeremy, are you fucking kidding me?”

“It’s not my fault!”

Trevor gapes as he stands in the middle of the kitchen, absolutely covered in flour as Jeremy doubles up with laughter. He shakes his head and tries to brush the powder on his shirt off, a smile forming on his lips through his fake scowl.

“Oh yeah, dude, there’s no way you’re getting that off your shirt,” Jeremy laughs, pure joy on his face as he leans on the counter for support, “I’ll get you a new one so you don’t kill me.”

He continues laughing as he exits the room and Trevor rolls his eyes fondly, looking at the mess of cake batter and flour on the side. Two months with the crew and he has settled in well, he muses. Well enough to be able to fail at baking cakes with Jeremy while the rest of the crew went out, it appears.

He checks on the cake in the oven as he waits for Jeremy to return with a clean shirt for him, grabbing the oven mitts from the side and opening the door. It wasn’t quite done, so he closes it and put the flour on the tallest shelf possible, far out of Jeremy’s reach. He put the rest of the baking stuff away as Jeremy enters the room and throws a shirt at Trevor, which he was just able to catch.

“Seriously? Shithead.”

Jeremy grins and turns to grab the sugar, putting it away as Trevor quickly pulls his flour covered shirt off. He tries to have some self-restraint and let Trevor get changed in something akin to privacy, but he’s never been too good at that, so he looks. He can feel his grin slip off his face as he looks at Trevor’s exposed chest, just as Trevor pulls the new shirt over his head and catches his gaze.

Trevor backs away slowly, like a scared deer, and Jeremy is frozen.

He has scars all over his chest. Some of them are faded and old, lines varying in length across his abdomen. The largest and notable one spans from his sternum to just below where his ribcage is, and it looks like it was deep – deep enough to almost bleed out from. The other scars look much newer, a couple of months old at most, and Jeremy knows who caused them with one glance at Trevor’s shaking form.

“Shit, fuck, you weren’t meant to see those.” Trevor’s back is pressed against the sink, hands holding onto the edge so tightly his knuckles have gone white, and panic flashing in his eyes. Jeremy steps towards him, holding his hands out in front of him when he sees him visibly flinch. He pulls him to him in a hug, Trevor relaxing as Jeremy embraces him for what feels like hours. Trevor’s head is resting on his shoulder, and his hair smells like the mint shampoo they share and it’s almost overwhelming to Jeremy, but he continues holding him because Trevor is so broken. He’s the kind of broken that will cut you and tear you if you try to pick up the pieces, but Jeremy doesn’t care.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Jeremy murmurs, his voice light and soft.

“It’s not,” Trevor mumbles into his shirt, “I’m sorry.”

Jeremy sighs, deep and ragged as Trevor’s hands clench the back of his shirt. He pulls back slowly, almost immediately missing the other man’s warmth, and turns Trevor’s chin gently so that their eyes meet. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he says, “you’ve done nothing wrong.”

Trevor shakes his head, his eyes so sad that it makes Jeremy’s heart burn. “That’s not true. God, Jeremy, I’m not a good person. I don’t deserve any of this.”

“You do,” Jeremy says, a desperate note in his voice, “Christ, Trevor. You deserve so much, and just because someone made you do some shitty things doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it.”

“It’s just-” Trevor glances away, pulling away from Jeremy ever so slightly- “these last two months have been great. They have, and I’m so grateful for all of you, but I’m also so scared it’s all going to come crashing down.”

A silence passes for a moment, and Jeremy steps backwards to let Trevor have some space. He puts his hands on Trevor’s arms, something as close to comfort as he can get without upsetting him more.

“He could come back, at any second, and I’d be completely and utterly fucked.” He looks back up at Jeremy, his hands quivering as he clenches them into fists by his sides, before leaning back against the counter. “You don’t mess around with people like the Corpirate. And when he finds me- “

“If,” Jeremy interrupts, only for Trevor to frown at him and shake his head.

“No. When. He isn’t going to rest until he finds me.”

“Then what? He’ll… He’ll kill you?” Jeremy tries so hard to keep his tone even, but he can’t help but break slightly on the last word. He sees Trevor flinch and tighten his grip on the counter, and brushes away any self-restraint he might have had prior to meeting Trevor. “I don’t want you to die, Trevor. It would kill me."

Trevor puts his hand on Jeremy’s cheek gently, a fragile smile on his face as Jeremy leans into the touch. He puts his own hand over Trevor’s, and he suddenly and inexplicitly aware of just how close they are to each other.

“I’m afraid you don’t have much say in whether I live or die, Jeremy,” he sighs. “Besides, I don’t think the Corpirate would kill me.”

“You don’t?”

“No. There are worse things than dying.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

He glances at Trevor’s lips, his stomach fluttering and his head filling with clouds. He knows he shouldn’t get close, knows it will only hurt him in the long run, but Jeremy doesn’t care at all.

Apparently, Trevor feels the same way. They’re leaning into each other, Trevor resting his forehead on Jeremy’s as his hand continues to stroke his cheek. He smells of peppermint and lavender and he is the best thing Jeremy has ever seen in his life. Their lips are almost touching; he can see the way his eyes shine like stars in the night sky, so bright and burning and Jeremy is struck with the sudden realisation of how much he adores Trevor. A sudden knock on the door disrupts them just as Jeremy closes his eyes, splitting them apart forcefully.

Trevor pulls his hand away from Jeremy’s cheek and pushes himself back against the counter, eyes wide as he looks at Jeremy, and then down at the floor. Jeremy curses everything in the world for ruining something which could have been one of the most incredible experiences of his life, and he sighs and runs a hand through his short hair. Just his luck.

He glances back up at Trevor, giving him a faint smile and stepping back a little bit, “I’ll… I’ll go get the door.”

“Yeah… Yeah, you do that,” he breathes, returning his smile softly.

Jeremy gives him a nod, and then walks out of the room. Trevor watches him leave, sees the green hair turn the corner, and almost folds into himself as soon as he’s out of sight. The only thing he’s going to do is hurt Jeremy, but he doesn’t want to push everything away anymore. Maybe he does deserve good things, like Jeremy and the rest of the crew have told him time after time, and maybe he doesn’t. All he knows is that he has always been selfish, and that isn’t going to stop anytime soon.

He hears a sharp gasp from the hallway, and he’s immediately filled with concern and worry as Jeremy starts yelling his name. He runs out of the kitchen and into the hall, abruptly stopping as he sees what’s in front of him.

Jeremy is standing next to the open door, his face drained of colour and his hands over his mouth. He turns to look at Trevor, fear in his eyes, and then back at the doorstep. Trevor walks to Jeremy slowly, gently pushing him behind him as he passes, before looking down.

There is a dead, mutilated body outside their door.

Trevor finds himself murmuring something that’s probably a reassurance to Jeremy, before glancing at him and telling him to call Geoff. He hears Jeremy stumble away to get his phone from the front room, and he crouches down to have a closer look at the body. There’s no weapon on him – no bomb or guns or anything like that, and Trevor breathes a sigh of relief as he starts to dig through the jean pockets. He pulls out a wallet, and is about to open it when a small piece of paper flutters out. He puts the wallet down next to him, picking the paper up and opening it.

He almost can’t read what’s on the paper for a moment, a cursive scrawl that burns his eyes. He blinks and looks at it again, and then a familiar sense of dread begins filling the pit of his stomach as he recognises the handwriting.

_I SEE YOU, BOY. MEET ME AT THE CARDELL WAREHOUSE TOMORROW AT MIDNIGHT, OR SAY BYE BYE TO YOUR LITTLE BUDS._

The slip falls through his fingers as his reality comes crashing and burning on top of him, the scrawl imprinted in his mind. He was foolish to think he was safe, to think that the Corpirate would never come back for him, that he could be happy. So unbelievably stupid and he can’t believe how he let himself grow comfortable over the span of two months. He let down all his walls and now the Corpirate is going to come back and kill all of them and it’s going to be all his fault. It’s no one’s fault but his, no one else would be so utterly naïve and –

“Did you find anything?” Jeremy’s voice jerks him out of his stupor, and he quickly shoves the slip into his pocket, picking the wallet up as he stands and turn to the other man. Jeremy isn’t as pale as he was earlier, but he’s clutching onto his phone like it’s a lifeline and looking at Trevor with so much vulnerability.

“Uh, yeah, the dude’s wallet,” Trevor says, swallowing his guilt and averting Jeremy’s eyes. He flips it open and looks at the ID, before frowning. “Eric Murphy, apparently. Heard of him?”

“Wait, pass it here for a second.” Trevor gives the wallet to Jeremy, their hands touching for a brief moment before Jeremy opens it and stares at the ID. “I’m not too sure. He might have been an informer or something, but he was nothing too high up in the crew.

“That’s good right?” Trevor can’t help but allow himself a brief though of hope, only for it to be ruined as Jeremy shakes his head, his gaze on the floor as he hands the wallet back to Trevor.

“The crew’s the crew. Doesn’t matter how low down they were. Geoff’s gonna be pissed.”

Jeremy’s phone buzzes and he quickly reads the message over, visibly relaxing as he does so. “They’re almost here,” he says, glancing at Trevor, “Ryan says to grab a seat in the front room and let them deal with the body.”

“Okay,” Trevor replies softly, trying to swallow the growing lump in his throat as he spoke and ignoring the churning feeling in his stomach. He moves to walk towards the front room, only to be stopped by a gentle hand on his arm.

“And Trevor?”

“Yes?” Hesitation fills his tone as he looks at Jeremy, his face full of uncertainty as he glances at the body, still lying on the ground outside their door, and back to Trevor.

“Geoff says he’d like a word.”

* * *

 

Surprisingly, Trevor had never been in Geoff Ramsey’s office before.

During his time in the crew, he had learnt that Geoff was, all things considered, a pretty lenient boss. He would get drunk with the Lads one evening, and then take down a rival gang the next day (with a raging hangover, of course). One moment, he would be messing around and joking with Jack, until Ryan walked into the room and gave him a nod, to which he would change at the snap of a finger into what Gavin appropriately dubbed as ‘Boss Mode’. He was a baffling maze of juxtapositions that Trevor just couldn’t figure out, but he knew as much to never underestimate him.

That was partially why Trevor was consumed by an all too familiar sense of dread as he sat opposite Geoff in his office, who looks back at him with a passive, stoic look on his face. He wasn’t giving anything away to Trevor, and he could feel himself practically squirming in his seat as Geoff stared at him with sleepy, analytical blue eyes.

“You’re a mystery, you know that kid?” Geoff speaks up, his voice laced with confusion and almost amusement. “There aren’t any records of you anywhere. I know you grew up here, and I know a couple of other things, but beyond the age of nine? You don’t exist, apparently.”

The slip of paper is burning a hole in Trevor’s pocket, and he shoves his guilt to the back of his mind and puts on a mask of indifference. “Yeah, guess so. Corpirate’s pretty big on that.”

“The Corpirate doesn’t give a shit about that kind of stuff,” Geoff narrows his eyes at Trevor, “in fact, he loves it. More blackmail material. It was a clever move on your part.”

“I didn’t have anyone for him to blackmail me with anyway.”

Geoff’s eyes fill with sorrow as he looks at Trevor, shaking his head gently as he clasps his hands together on his desk. “That’s a fair point. Why’d you erase it then?”

“Can never be too safe, especially with people like him.”

A deep chuckle fills the air as Geoff pushes himself out the chair, leaning his hands on the desk and looking Trevor in the eyes.

“You sure are a smart one. Too smart, maybe.”

“What do you mean?” Trevor’s tone is full of doubt, and Geoff frowns at him as he carries on.

“The Corpirate loves people like you,” he starts, and Trevor tries to stop his heart from hitting the bottom of his stomach as it plummets. “Smart, determined, angry. He utilises that. He doesn’t like it when they get out of control.”

“Who says I’m angry?”

“Your eyes do.”

Trevor tries his best to hold in his scoff, focusing on the carpet below his feet instead of facing Geoff. He can tell that he’s still staring at him, and he can’t help but let the fear that Geoff knows everything bubble up in his veins, that he wants Trevor gone. He hears a sigh, and then the sound of a chair being scraped backwards.

“I’m not trying to threaten you, Trevor.” Geoff’s voice is soft, and Trevor finds it so unfair that these people are so kind. He’s meant to be one of the best criminals in the city, in the state, yet here he is, trying to reason with some brat like Trevor.

Trevor runs his hands through his hair, fixing his gaze back on Geoff as he leans back into the chair. “Why not?”

“That’s not how I do things,” he says, “I find it best to talk to people. Pointing a gun at someone and shoving a knife through their hands just tends to piss people off, in my experience. I know you’re not used to that, and I know the Corpirate mistreated you. I’m sorry about that.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Trevor mumbles, “he did it to everyone.”

“That’s what I want to avoid. I want my crew members to be able to tell me the truth without being afraid for their lives. So,” he takes a breath, looking right at Trevor, “tell me. Do you know anything about how that body ended up on our doorstep?”

He has no clue what he’s going to do. Geoff is looking at him as if he can tell him how to save the world or something, and all Trevor can do is fuck everything up. There are two options in front of him: he can either tell Geoff about the Corpirate’s note and risk being thrown out on his ass – or, even worse than that, the crew tries to help Trevor and gets themselves killed. The other option would be to ignore the note and tell Geoff that he has no clue why that man ended up on their doorstep. Gavin had told him that the Corpirate had no power anyway, so realistically he couldn’t do shit to Trevor.

Blind hope is one of the only things that gets Trevor through his days, and it isn’t exactly a friend to him, but it helps numb the severity of his situation. It something he has chosen time after time. No one ever said that he makes good decisions.

“No,” he says, clearing his voice as he looks up at Geoff, “I have no clue why or how that body got there. It freaked me out just as much as you guys.”

Geoff examines him for a moment, furrowing his brow and sighing. “Okay. I believe you. You were pretty freaked out – Jeremy too.”

“Yeah, he was the one who opened the door.”

“Oh yeah?” The earlier tension which filled the room seemed to evaporate, Geoff’s features coated with amusement as he grinned at Trevor. “Bud, I’m sure I don’t need to give you the talk about anything like that, but seriously- “

“Oh no, it’s not – we’re not like that, we’re just… Friends. It’s fine, I don’t even – Christ, you’re just fucking with me.”

Geoff almost chokes laughing, a full blown cackle flooding the room as his eyes crinkle with mirth. Trevor honestly want the ground to swallow him then and there, but he can’t help but let a smile slip on his face as he watches Geoff. Geoff takes a few wheezing breaths, shaking his head at Trevor as he does so.

“Fucking kids, man,” he says, a fond look in his eyes as he looks at Trevor, “you’re all so young.” He sobers up then, smiling at Trevor more genuinely, but with a slightly troubled look replacing his earlier amusement. “Go on, get out then. We’ve got a heist to prepare for.”

Trevor stands up and nods at Geoff, walking out of his office to his room. He sits down on the edge of his bed, before opening his bedside drawer and grabbing the note from his pocket. He doesn’t bother reading it over again – the words are already imprinted in his brain – but instead puts it in the drawer under a pile of books, and closes it.

He made his choice the moment he chose to lie to Geoff. Now he has to deal with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know it's been 84 years but i can explain. i kinda fell into a funk, and i haven't been feeling myself for the last couple of weeks, so i didn't write anything and. here we are. but hey! i'm back, and chapter 4 is done and i have so many ideas for the rest of the story so we shall see where it goes!  
> anyways, as always comments and kudos are much appreciated, thank you guys <3  
> next time: a heist and someone finds out.  
> [my tumblr](http://jdooley.tumblr.com/) [my twitter](https://twitter.com/raywever)


	4. brave face talk so lightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[playlist for the fic]](https://8tracks.com/eylsewillems/how-this-world-keeps-spinning)   
> 

The Fake AH Crew had a very… Interesting way of preparing for a heist.

Trevor is sitting on the couch in the front room, watching as Michael tackles Gavin to the ground and sits on him. He chuckles quietly as Gavin begins squawking in protest, prompting Michael to tease him further as his freckled face scrunches up with the force of his laughter. Gavin looks up at Trevor, yelling at him to save him, as Michael starts to tickle him. Trevor can’t control his own laughter, clutching his stomach and leaning his head against the back of the sofa. Jeremy enters the room, giving Trevor a curious look as he curls around himself in mirth, and then rolls his eyes at Gavin and Michael.

“Dude, you’re gonna kill him,” he says to Michael, crossing over to the couch and sitting down next to Trevor.

“Maybe that’s the point,” Michael replies.

“Sod off, Michael!” Gavin groans, his voice going up an octave as Michael stands up for a moment, and then sits back down on his stomach.

“There’s no hope for them,” Trevor says to Jeremy, a wide grin on his face as he focuses on the scene in front of him. “They were arguing about whether colour was spelt with a 'u' or not and uh,” he gestures towards the heap of limbs on the floor, “things got heated.”

“I can see that,” Jeremy responds as Trevor turns to look at him, shaking his head at Michael and Gavin. Trevor’s doing that thing where the skin around his eyes crinkles as he laughs, almost radiating with what can only be happiness and it’s so unfair because who the hell allowed him to be so attractive? Asshole.

The thing with him and Trevor is that they’re friends. Really good friends, in all honesty, and Jeremy loves every moment he spends with him. Since he’s come out of his shell more and overcome his fear and anxiety, he’s been a delight, and Jeremy, really, _really_ likes him. Which means he’s fucked.

Trevor, in all his scarred, broken wonder, is the best thing Jeremy has ever known and ever since that day where they almost kissed and a dead body ended up by their door, Jeremy hasn’t been able to stop thinking about him.

Speaking about that day, Geoff was never able to find the person responsible. He had sworn and yelled and broken his phone after throwing it at the wall, but he had to give up when the twentieth person he contacted had no clue who could have been the culprit. Jeremy had no clue either (he was trying his best to wipe the image of the body from his mind), but he couldn’t help but think Trevor knew something. Whenever he brought it up, Trevor wouldn’t look him in the eyes. He didn’t want to press anything or make him snap, so he dropped it after a while, and they carried on with their usual easy friendship.

He glances over at him, silently observing the way he sits with his feet planted firmly on the floor, his arms resting on his knees as he leans forward to make a snide comment to Michael. He looks comfortable and happy, and Jeremy can’t help but smile. Trevor deserves to be happy, he thinks. He deserves it more than anyone else in this god forsaken city and he deserves better than what he has been given. He can’t complain too much about it though, because he got to meet him.

Jeremy snaps out of his thoughts as he notices Trevor staring at him with soft eyes, his head turned to him. He blinks, shaking his head slightly and quickly glancing at Michael, who is looking back at him with a smug grin on his face. He focuses his gaze back on Trevor, who chuckles lightly.

“Sorry, I completely zoned out for a second there. Thinkin’ about the heist. What were you saying?”

“Sure you were thinkin’ about the heist, buddy. Sure thing,” Michael says, his grin growing wider as Jeremy shoots him the dirtiest glare he can muster.

Trevor laughs, his eyes crinkling again. “I just asked if you were alright. You were just kinda staring into space and I dunno,” he trails off, fingers rubbing over his knuckles.

“I’m sure he’s just fine. Right, Lil J?” Michael teases.

“Yeah. Right.” He clears his throat, giving Trevor a soft smile and then focusing on the carpet in front of him. He can feel Michael looking at him, and he curses him for being so curious and cocky. It wasn’t exactly a secret that he and Trevor were close, but Michael and Gavin (and probably the rest of the crew, in all honesty) had a feeling that they were something more.

They weren’t wrong. They were something just more than friends, but they seemed to be caught somewhere in the middle. Jeremy would open his mouth to ask Trevor, and his words would get stuck in his throat and he would swallow them again. It seemed like they weren’t getting anywhere soon.

Jeremy hears a noise from down the hallway, and sees Jack standing at the door and waving at them. Ryan’s next to her, with a bag over his shoulder and his mask on.

“You guys ready? We should probably get going.”

Michael groans, standing up from where he was sitting on Gavin’s stomach. “Oh, fine,” he whines, kicking Gavin gently as he pushes himself off the ground. Gavin sends Michael a glare, huffing as he clutches his stomach.

“Yeah, we’ll be right there,” Trevor says, a small smile on his face which Jack returns.

The door shuts after Jack and Ryan, and Michael grabs his bag from the table, throwing Gavin his own bags. He glances over his shoulder to Trevor and Jeremy, a devious glint in his eyes as he smirks. “We’ll see you guys outside. Don’t take too long.”

Jeremy sticks his middle finger up at Michael as Gavin pulls him out of the room, a full blown cackle that they can still hear as he leaves emerging from him. Trevor rolls his eyes and smiles fondly after him, standing up from the couch and focusing on Jeremy.

“You ready?” he asks, getting the last two bags from the table and passing one of them to Jeremy.

He groans, resting his head against the couch and pouting up at Trevor. “Not in the slightest,” he says, “Michael and Gavin are probably going to do something dumb again.”

“That’s what comms are for, I guess.” Trevor reaches a hand out to Jeremy and pulls him up, smiling at him while their hands are still interlocked. Jeremy lets go of Trevor’s hand and notices the smile on his face falter for a split second, before he cocks his head to the side.

“Hey Jeremy, can I ask you something?”

Jeremy’s heart pounds for a second, and he’s pretty sure his eyes have gone so wide they now resemble an owl’s. “Um, yeah, sure thing.”

“Why doesn’t- I mean; you know Ryan? I was wondering why he doesn’t… You know,” he stumbles, looking at Jeremy pleadingly to help him out.

“Why he doesn’t talk?” Jeremy replies, Trevor nodding his head. “Oh, he’s mute. You really went two months without asking that?”

“I mean, I had a feeling that was it, but I didn’t want to be rude okay.”

“You’re such an idiot.”

“Shut up, Jeremy. Stop grinning”

* * *

 

The heist starts off well.

Trevor and Ryan are standing outside the bank, waiting as Geoff, Gavin, and Michael grab the money from the bank vault. Their primary job is to make sure no hostages escape – some of them were slippery fuckers, after all, and they couldn’t have someone running off to get help. They also had to watch out for the police, and give the guys inside a heads up as to when they needed to get the hell out of there. It’s quiet, and Trevor rocks on his heels as he listens to the yells and laughs over the comms. He hears Jeremy say something sarcastic to Gavin, and finds himself rolling his eyes at the both of them. Jeremy, of course, is positioned on the building opposite the bank with his sniper rifle, and Trevor can vaguely see his small form huddled behind the wall, the gun peeking up above his cover.

He turns his head to look at Ryan, who is twirling his gun in his hands. He used to be scared of him, and for a good reason. Ryan carved his reputation out of hard work and blood, but he isn’t as bad as the rumours say he is. Jeremy had fondly called him a ‘big old teddy bear’ one night, and although Trevor hadn’t been able to see it at the time, he does know. It’s obvious in the way Ryan lives to protect his family, the crew. Which apparently includes him now.

Ryan glances up from his gun to meet Trevor’s eyes, and he nods at him. Trevor smiles at him in return, a silent exchange of trust. A promise, if nothing else, that everything will be fine.

Trevor had done heists with the crew before. A couple of small ones which had gone without a hitch; they moved in a smooth system, their mechanics in perfect synchronisation. This heist obviously demanded more effort, the bank being one of the biggest in the entire city. Trevor really, really hoped nothing would go wrong.

That hope went crashing down as the sound of police sirens filled the air.

“What the fuck?” Trevor mutters, turning to look at Ryan who has stilled and shifted his body in a stance. “They’re not meant to be here for another ten minutes, what the hell is going on?”

He reaches for the comms in his ears, clicking a button and trying to steady his breathing. “You guys, we’ve got trouble.”

“Trouble?” Geoff’s disembodied voice says, crackling slightly over the comms. “What sort of trouble?”

“Ryan giving you trouble? Look, I told you, if he tries anything you’ve just gotta pat him on the head and give him a belly rub- “

Trevor cuts Michael off, his eyes widening as he sees the police cars draw up in front of the bank.

“No. Trouble as in cops. You need to get out of there now.”

“But they’re not meant to be here for a while, how the hell did they know?” Gavin sounds panicked, and he can hear Geoff yelling at them to get out of there.

“I don’t know, but I can see them as well. They’re right in front of the bank, use the back exit to get out and get to Jack,” Jeremy shouts into the comms, his voice urgent and concerned, but with a tinge of control. Trevor hums his agreement and Geoff orders Michael and Gavin to get to Jack, before directing new orders to the other three.

“Can you three hold them off until we get to the car? I have no doubt the entire squadrons there, but all we need is five minutes, if that. As soon as we’re clear, you need to get out of here. You understand me?”

“Understood. Be safe boss,” Trevor replies, hearing a grunt on the other side before static fills the silence.

The cops are advancing on the bank now and Trevor and Ryan are standing in front of it. He can see panic and uncertainty in some of their eyes, and swallows his fear. Five minutes. That’s all they need.

He looks at Ryan and nods at him. Pulling his gun out of his pocket, he points it at the incoming force, backing away slightly. He spots Ryan out of the corner of his eye doing the same, and he knows Jeremy can tell what they’re planning.

A bang resounds through the square, and the cop in the middle of the fray falls to the floor. Then, chaos ensues.

Trevor bolts to the side, pausing behind a marble pillar. He shoots from the side, stopping anyone from getting near him as he thinks about how to distract them best.

“Trevor! There’s a group of five cops heading your way, you need to move.” Jeremy says over the comms. He can almost imagine the way his eyebrows are furrowed together in concentration, his hands shaking with adrenaline as he tries his best to distract the police.

“I know, I’m trying,” Trevor grounds out, turning to shoot blindly.  His reloads his gun and looks for a better cover. He can hear the cops getting closer and closer, the stench of blood and gunpowder encompassing the air around him as he feels his pulse quickening.

“Trevor, if you can make it to that bench, and then across the street to the building I’m in, we might be able to hold them off. Ryan, you need to get out of here. Get to Jack and tell her we need backup.”

Trevor ducks as a shot gets too close to him, abandons his discarded clips on the floor and runs. He feels a bullet graze his arm, but he keeps his mouth shut and dives behind the cement bench. Pushing himself up, he looks over the bench to the havoc in front of the bank, and shoots as many cops as he can until his clip runs out. He falls behind cover again and fumbles in his pockets for another. He only has one more clip.

His hands shake wildly as he checks how many bullets he has left (not enough) and presses his gun to his chest, closing his eyes for a moment before standing up and running for his life.

He can hear Jeremy shouting over the comms, a distant warning of where the police are and how close they are to Trevor and _holy shit_ he could die here without ever telling Jeremy how much he cares for him. The thought of that is unbearable, and so he runs even faster until he reaches the building and slams his fists on the door.

Jeremy had locked it, of course he had, that was the first rule of sniping right? Make sure that the building you’re in is secure, something like that. Jeremy had told him one time, because Trevor had asked, but he had never given a shit about the rules of sniping. He had just wanted to hear Jeremy talk.

The door opens, and Trevor sees familiar brown eyes widened in panic and green hair that is beginning to fade and scruff and the broadness of his shoulders and _Jeremy_. He is pulled forwards, seemingly disconnected from his body as he sees Jeremy’s lips move, but hears no sound. He can feel his hands being grabbed, being led up the stairs in a half run, almost tripping on stairs but not quite because he’s right there with him. They reach a door, and Jeremy shoves it open and runs with him across the roof to his rifle.

Trevor pulls himself together as Jeremy pushes him to the floor against the wall. “We need – Jeremy, where’s Ryan?”

“He’s safe, he’s okay, he got to Jack on the other side.” Jeremy fiddles with his gun, packing it away in the case beside him. “We need to get out of here – fuck, you’re bleeding.”

“Huh?” Trevor glances to his arm, where he sees red coating it and staining his shirt. “Oh. Yeah I am. It’s only a graze, I’m okay.”

“No you’re fucking not,” Jeremy huffs out, standing up and slinging his case over his shoulder. He reaches a hand out for Trevor, and he takes it. They’re standing so close and they need to get to the car but he’s not sure how and he can’t bear the thought of Jeremy dying. “You’re in shock, Trev, and we need to get out of here.”

Jeremy pulls him to the back end of the roof, where an unsteady escape ladder is propped up against the wall. Trevor finds it funny that Jeremy is so prepared that he makes sure there’s a fucking ladder. He shakes his head as he climbs over the wall and grips onto the rungs, looking up at Jeremy and giving him a small smile.

“Meet you at the bottom, yeah?”

“We’re on the same ladder, dickhead.”

Trevor’s head feels slightly less cloudy as he reaches the bottom, Jeremy almost there as well. They’re almost safe. They just need to get around the corner to where Jack and the others are, and then they’ll be totally fine and he can make sure no one ever gets close to hurting Jeremy again.

He grabs Jeremy’s hand, running up the alley they climbed down to and spotting the exit.

There’s three figures blocking it.

Three big, burly male figures, with large guns and angry faces.

The men lunge towards Jeremy and Trevor, aiming their guns at them as they duck behind the wall and look at each other.  Trevor sees Jeremy’s eyes fill with worry and dread, and he knows his own reflect that. The way his lips tremble, the furrow of his brow, the shake of his hands. Trevor realises something.

He would rather die than let Jeremy get hurt.

He pushes himself up and shoots at the three guys, hearing one yell in pain and the others in anger. Jeremy joins him, a smaller pistol in his hands as he stands next to Trevor and tells him to run.

The alley is narrow, and there is nowhere to run but back, to where the police are, so Trevor paces forwards. He gets the second man in the chest, pausing for a moment to dodge a shot from the third. He’s close enough now that he can see the pure fury on the other man’s face, an ugly scar crossing his face. He aims his gun to shoot him in the head. Nothing. Empty clicks.

The other man grins, ugly and gruesome.

Trevor sees what happens next in flashes.

His gun, slipping out of his hands to the floor.

Jeremy, screaming his name and holding his gun up behind them.

Two shots.

Always two.

Then, nothing.

* * *

   

Trevor wakes up on his bed.

His throat is dry and scratchy, and he has a pounding headache that aches so much it nearly brings tears to his eyes. He scrunches them shut, raising a hand to feel a sizeable lump on his forehead, covered by a bandage. Opening his eyes, he glances around him blearily until he spots familiar blond hair by his bed.

“Gav?” he croaks out, his voice hoarse. He lifts his head slightly off the pillow and watches as Gavin’s eyes flash from his phone to him.

“Thank Christ you’re awake,” Gavin says, his voice softened with relief. “You’ve been out for a couple of hours.”

Trevor blinks his eyes in confusion, looking up at Gavin. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

“No, uh. Yeah. The cops showed up, right?”

“Yeah,” Gavin breathes, clasping his hands together in his lap, “we’re not sure how they knew. Geoff’s looking into it right now. Do you remember anything else?”

Trevor pushes himself up gently, propping his back against the headboard of his bed before looking back at Gavin. “I think so. Jeremy and I were attacked in the alley on our way to you lot. They weren’t cops, they were – holy fuck, Jeremy.”

Gavin seems to have been expecting Trevor to realise, because he’s there in the blink of an eye to prevent Trevor from leaping out of his bed. He puts a gentle, but firm hand on his chest and forces him to lie back on the bed, concern coating his features.

“Where’s Jeremy, Gavin.”

“He’s okay,” Gavin sit back in his chair, picking his phone up from the floor. “He was shot in the shoulder. Nothing too bad, and nothing Caleb can’t fix.”

Trevor lets his head fall against the headboard, breathing a sigh of relief. “What about the people who attacked us?”

“They’re all dead. But we did find something.”

Gavin pulls a slip of paper from his pocket, and Trevor’s heart stops for a moment.

“What… What is that?”

“I think you know what this is.”

Trevor swallows, rubbing the nape of his neck in a slow, circular movement to try and slow his breath. It doesn’t work.

“It was the Corpirate, wasn’t it?” he glances up at Gavin, who nods in response to his question. “Can I see what it says?”

Gavin passes it to him silently, and Trevor’s eyes dart along the god forsaken cursive as the words sink into his skin.

_LAST WARNING, OR THEY ALL DIE._

“What does he mean by last warning?” Trevor avoids his eyes, focusing on the carpet next to the bed instead. “Trevor, we can’t help you if you don’t tell us.” Gavin’s voice is tinted with desperation, and Trevor feels like the worst person on the planet in that moment.

“You can’t help me.”

“Trevor- “

“The day when Murphy’s body ended up on the door, the Corpirate sent me a message. He told me to meet him at a warehouse. I didn’t, I stayed here and now you might all die because of it.” Trevor’s voice raises to the point where he’s nearly shouting by the end of his sentence, his hands gripping his hair as he pushes himself to a sitting position.

“You told Geoff that you had no clue why the body was there.”

“Yeah, well,” Trevor lets a dark chuckle escape, one of his hands falling from his hair to his neck. “I lied. It’s all I’m good at. That, and getting people hurt, apparently.”

Gavin’s shoulders slouch, his body leaning forwards in his chair as he looks at Trevor. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? Wherever I go, people get hurt. Everyone I have ever loved has gotten hurt or killed because of me,” he jabs a finger to his chest as he spits the words out, letting his bitterness fill him like helium. “I won’t let that happen to you guys.”

“Because of Jeremy?”

His heart seems to be beating in a slow waltz in his throat, and he shakes his head. “He’s one of the reasons, but not the only one. I know how to stop the Corpirate. For real this time.”

“How? He’s still got followers, Trevor. I was wrong before, he still has power, and if he wants you dead then he will kill you. Even if he doesn’t kill you, the only way you could kill him is from…”

“The inside. Yeah.”

“That’s suicide.”

“I know.”

“If you die you’ll destroy Jeremy. I won’t let that happen.”

“If I don’t Jeremy will die anyway!” Trevor exclaims, folding his body so that his knees are hugged to his chest. “I can’t let him die, Gavin.”

Gavin rests against his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking back at Trevor. “What are you going to do then?”

“I’m going to go back to the warehouse, and he’s going to give me a choice. Go back with him and do his bidding,” the corner of his mouth raises in disgust, “or die. I’ll take the latter, earn his trust, and then kill him.”

“That’s not a simple task. It’ll take months.”

“I know.”

Gavin shakes his head, glancing at his hands in his lap. “I suppose you don’t want me to tell the others?”

“Please, Gavin. They’ll come looking for me, I know they will.”

“And by _they_ you mean Jeremy.”

“Yes,” Trevor sighs, running his hands over his face, “you know as well as I do that he would run into whatever danger if he thought I was in trouble.”

“Yeah. He would.”

“So you won’t tell anyone?”

He looks Trevor over, his heart bleeding for the lanky boy with tired eyes and scars across his back. “I won’t, on one condition. You come back to us.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“That’s all I can ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back from the land of the dead! apologies for the late update, i've started school again and there's a hell of a lot of work, so i've just been busy with that and trying not to have a mental breakdown lmao. this is the longest chapter so far (it's 4k holy moly), and it's also my first time writing action so i'm not sure if it's great? but it's the best i can do right now so. here.  
> as always, kudos and comments are much appreciated, and feel free to yell at me gently on tumblr anytime.  
> next time: two Very Big Very Sad things happen.  
> [my tumblr](http://jdooley.tumblr.com/) [my twitter](https://twitter.com/raywever)


	5. lay us down, we're in love.

The Cardell Warehouse was well known in Los Andreas for being one of the safest places to store anything the highest bidder wanted to keep hidden. There were whispers about how it was used to keep all sorts of horrible things; drugs, prisoners, nuclear weapons. Figments of a criminal’s wildest imagination.

Trevor knew most of these rumours to be true.

It was mostly why his heart felt as if it was about to burst out of his chest as he approached the wide bay doors of the entrance: ivy crawling up to the roof like escape ropes, the surrounding area wild and unkempt. He put his hand in his trouser pocket, reaching for his gun out of habit before realising that he didn’t have it. It was back at the base, with the rest of his stuff. All he had bought with him was a hoodie and his fear and a vague idea of how terribly everything was about to go.

He pushes the door open, one trembling hand against steel. It creaks, and he swallows his regret and walks through.

The lights are off. If he looks up, he would see the dangling lamps that hang from the ceiling, old and decrepit. He doesn’t look up though. He looks ahead, at the single chair placed in the middle of the huge room. A prison of cement. Boxes are piled against the far walls, leaving an oddly circular space right in the middle of the warehouse.

The Corpirate always did have a flair for the dramatic.

His feet are light on the ground, small taps echoing through the empty building as he walks as slow as he can to the centre. Memories of past occasions at this spot haunt his mind; the person he was before he met the Fake AH Crew, before he sold the Corpirate out. When he tortured and maimed and did so many horrible things that he swears he can still see the blood on his hands sometimes. He doesn’t want to go back to that.

He feels his courage nearly evaporate into the dirty air around him when he spots the Corpirate, leaning against a pile of boxes on the opposite side of the circle and staring right at him. There’s a smile on his face, and he radiates confidence and anger.

Trevor feels sick to his stomach as he looks back at him.

Stopping at the edge of the circle, a fair distance from the chair, he forces himself to push his worry away. He replaces it with a smug glint in his eyes and arms folded against his chest. He hears the Corpirate laugh, and crook a finger at him to come closer. Trevor stays where he is.

If he turns his head, he’d spot the several lackeys hidden behind boxes, with oversized guns and bulletproof vests. The Corpirate never did go anywhere alone after all; his paranoia was blatantly obvious even to the most oblivious, and it was one of the few things Trevor had over the Corpirate. Even the most powerful of men could be manipulated.

“It’s nice to see you again, boy.”

His voice is low and honeyed, and it sends a shiver right down Trevor’s spine. He tries not to let it show on his face, but judging by how the Corpirate’s grin grows, he hasn’t done a good enough job.

“Yeah, I can’t say the same for you,” he drawls, hugging his arms tighter. The Corpirate cocks his head to the side, his smile ingrained onto his face as he examines Trevor.

“Always so mouthy. You know, I probably should have killed you when you were nothing but a little brat.”

“But you didn’t. And so here we are.”

“And here we are, indeed,” the Corpirate muses, thinly disguised irritation covered up by amusement. “I think we both know where this conversation is going, but I’ll tell you anyway. I don’t take kindly to people who stab me in the back, and you knew this. And yet, you still went to the Fake’s.” He looks Trevor over, scoffing at his slim frame with cruel eyes. “I know you’re far from stupid, so you must have thought that was the best option. It wasn’t.”

Trevor unfolds his arms and lets them fall to his side, bracing himself. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he replies, and cold metal is pressed to the back of Trevor’s head.

He finds himself laughing then. A cold, sudden burst of uncontrollable giggles erupt from his mouth, as he stares the Corpirate, the man he hates with all his being, right in the eyes. The sound bounces around the warehouse, and Trevor almost wants to cry at how harsh and malicious he really is. Almost.

“You don’t wanna kill me. You can’t.” He snarls at him after he stops laughing, clenching his fists and locking his jaw.

“I wouldn’t bet on that.”

The gun presses against his head harder. Trevor keeps his glare directed on the Corpirate, an idea bursting into colour in his mind.

“If you had wanted me dead, you would have killed me already.” The Corpirate doesn’t reply, and so Trevor continues with unrelenting pace. “I’m useful to you. I always have been, and I always will be. No one else in your sorry little crew has anywhere near as much skill as I do, and you’re not going to get anywhere near the top without me.” He spits the words out like gunfire, concealing the way his skin crawls with an emotionless façade.

The Corpirate shrugs, and nods to the man behind Trevor. The metal leaves the back of his head, and he hears him step away from him. “You’re right,” he says, stepping forwards to the middle of the circle. “Maybe it would be easier having you killed, but hey,” he tilts his face up, his grin terrifying in the moonlight, “what’s the fun in doing things the easy way?”

Trevor lets himself smile. “The catch?”

“You come with me now. And you don’t question anything I do, ever again. I don’t care how valuable you are, you’re dead on the spot if you cross me again. Understood?”

“I understand, but I’ll need to give the Fake’s some kind of excuse as to why I’ve left. It’ll be suspicious if I don’t, and they’ll come looking for me. You don’t want that.”

The Corpirate crosses the circle in a flash, and he has Trevor by the throat as soon as he can so much as blink. Trevor closes his eyes, trying to ignore the hot, unpleasant breath on his face, as well as the hand around his throat.

“Fine,” he hisses into his ear, his hold tightening. “But you don’t tell anyone the real reason, and you meet me here in five hours. Agreed?”

He nods erratically, and the Corpirate lets go of him. Trevor stumbles back slightly, rubbing his neck with one hand. “Agreed,” he chokes out, wincing at how hoarse his voice sounds.

The silence in a building as huge as the Cardell is suffocating, and Trevor wants to disappear as the Corpirate turns his back on him and starts walking away. He lets himself fall apart for a split second, before pulling himself back together and straightening up.

The Corpirate pauses in his stride, tilting his head to the floor in front of him as Trevor stares at his back. “Oh, and boy? If you break any of the promises you just made, I can take things far more precious from you than your life. Like your little… _Pet_ , for example.”

An icy cold sensation of terror washes over him, his eyes widening as he realises what he means. Jeremy. Of course.

He doesn’t respond, and Trevor watches as the Corpirate leaves the warehouse, the rest of his lackeys following after him.

Trevor falls to his knees.

* * *

 

There is an odd felling of peacefulness to the base at two in the morning that there never is during daylight.

It’s like another realm, almost; faded and not quite real. Of course, that could be his dissociation, but Trevor would rather take the first idea over reality. His knees are sore from kneeling on the warehouse floor for over an hour out of numbness, and he’s sure his face is devoid of any colour.

It’s chilly and quiet, and he finds himself standing in the middle of the hallway, looking at the old carpet on the floor, the haggard edges, the cracking paint splashed on the walls. It’s worn, the whole apartment is, but it’s home.

Home. What a funny concept that is.

He had never had anything close to a home, really. There was the flat he and his mom had lived in when he was little, but he didn’t remember anything from there really. Just blood on the floor and dilated pupils.

And now, he’s getting the one he stumbled into ripped out from under his feet.

Funny.

The stairs creak under his feet, and he braces himself for a yell from one of the bedrooms, or a thud, or anything that signals someone being awake. Nothing. Thank god. If someone were to catch him sneaking about in the middle of the night, he wouldn’t be able to bluff his way out of it.

No. He has a plan. For that, he can’t talk to anyone but Jeremy. Anyone else would see right through his act, and although he’s aware of how Jeremy will too, Trevor can persuade him to keep it a secret. Hopefully.

He walks slowly, in some sort of stupor and discovers himself on the roof. Of all places his feet lead him, they had to take him here. He walks past discarded bottles and to the little garden.

Jeremy is sitting on the bench, staring into the distance. He doesn’t look up as Trevor sits next to him, instead letting loose a small sigh. Trevor fiddles with his hands in his lap and stares at the floor in front of him, his blood roaring in his ears as he tries to collect his thoughts.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jeremy tilt his head up to the sky and shake it slightly, before looking back out at the city.

“Where were you, Trevor?” He sounds tired, and Trevor hates that it’s his fault. He bits his lip and he can hear Jeremy sigh even louder as he turns to look at him. “Tell me. Please.”

“I- I was… It’s a long story.”

“It’s the Corpirate, isn’t it?” It’s not phrased as a question – his tone is too monotone and quiet - but rather a statement that Jeremy already knows the answer to. He just needs Trevor to confirm it.

Trevor nods his head slowly, before realising that Jeremy wasn’t looking at him and letting a small “yeah, it is,” escape him. He sees Jeremy put his head in his hands and groan, and he can barely restrain himself from comforting him however he can. He doesn’t think that Jeremy would be very comforted by him though, considering that it’s his fault.

“God, I can’t fucking – I can’t _believe_ you,” Jeremy spits out, pulling his hands from his face and resting them on his legs. He turns to glare at Trevor, the terror shining in his eyes betraying the anger resting in them. “You were meant to let us help you. We’re a crew, Trevor, I’m your friend! We wanted to help you, but _no_ ,” Jeremy stands up, facing Trevor as he yells. “You don’t let anyone help. All you do is push everyone away and I’m sick of it.”

“I had to,” Trevor says, his voice calmer than he had anticipated.

Jeremy pulls at his hair, walking in a small circle in front of the bench and swearing under his breath. “Trevor.” He’s calmer now, his feet still and voice low. “Trevor, you can’t just give yourself up to the Corpirate. You hate him, I know you do, I know you better than anyone else.”

“Yeah,” Trevor swallows. “You do. That’s why I’m sorry.”

The anger in Jeremy has seemingly dissipated, being replaced instead by sorrow. Trevor pushes himself off the bench and walks to where Jeremy stands just a couple of metres away, grabbing his hand. He traces a small circle on it, avoiding his eyes and focusing on each individual wrinkle on them. The scarred knuckles, his short nails, the way in which the lines seem to run on forever and ever and ever. He lets loose a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, and looks at Jeremy. He’s looking right back, vulnerability coating his features.

“Jeremy,” he starts, voice nearly breaking, “you know just as well as I do that the Corpirate isn’t going to fall unless someone takes him out. You also know I’m the best person to do that.” Jeremy furrows his brow and opens his mouth to argue, so Trevor places a finger to his lips to try and give himself some more time to explain. “I am, Jer. I know how he works, and where all his warehouses are, and where he keeps his drugs and all the nasty shit that would have him in jail for the rest of his life. Except he can’t go to jail, because he’d get out eventually and then all hell would break loose.”

He drops his finger from Jeremy’s lips, and notices that their left hands are still intertwined. Jeremy clears his throat, shaking his head as he tries to process the information.

“So you expect us to just let you give yourself up?” He asks, a note of desperation that Trevor had never heard before in his voice.

“No, I don’t. That’s why you can’t tell anyone.”

Jeremy splutters, the corners of his mouth turning down. “You want me to lie? What if you get hurt, Trevor? I won’t be able to find you, and they won’t either. Please, you need to think about this- “

“I have, Jeremy. Over and over again. If anyone comes after me, he’ll kill them. Just let me finish what I started.

A beat of silence falls, before Jeremy’s small voice breaks it again. “Why does it have to be you?”

Trevor sighs, stepping close to Jeremy. “I’m the best option. If my plan works, he’ll never bother anyone again. I won’t be constantly running from him anymore, and he won’t be able to hurt any of you.”

“Did he… Did he threaten us?”

“Yeah, he did.” Trevor almost laughs, some twisted irony hitting him as he holds Jeremy’s hand and breaks his heart. “He threatened you, mostly.”

“Me?” Jeremy’s eyes are laced with confusion. “Why would he do that?”

“Because – oh man, Jeremy, for a sniper you sure are oblivious as hell.”

“What do you – oh,” his eyes flash with a sudden realisation, and he looks at Trevor as if he contains all the stars in the night sky.

Trevor swallows the lump in his throat and moves even closer to Jeremy, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. He’s pulled forward into a tight hug, and he rests his hands on the small of Jeremy’s back.

“I’m so sorry, Jeremy. For all of this,” he mumbles into Jeremy’s neck, and he feels the faint shake of Jeremy’s head as he sighs again.

“Don’t apologise. Please.”

He pulls back slightly, and now his hand is tracing the outline of Trevor’s jaw and smoothing the hair back behind his ears and he looks so incredibly sad. A stab of pain goes through Trevor, his regret flooding his lungs like a tidal wave and driving out any determination he had previously had to see the whole thing though. All he wanted was to stay in this moment with Jeremy for eternity, observing the sad smile on his usually joyous face twist into something more wistful, the way his hair dances in the wind, the peppermint and vanilla sent on his shirt.

Jeremy’s fingers still and drop from his face, and he looks to the side for a moment, before turning his head to gaze at Trevor. They’re so close to each other that he can feel Jeremy’s breath, how it seems to float above their heads in the cold air and dissipate. Jeremy clears his throat and interlocks their fingers together, squeezing them as he speaks up. “I was really, really hoping it wouldn’t be like this. I wanted it to be – y’know – _special.”_

Trevor can’t help but smile at the thought that they could be safe, possibly, and happy. With each other. Maybe not here, but in any other universe. A place far away from this bullshit that had consumed their lives bit by bit until they had nothing left but vague hopes and agonising regrets.

“It’s okay,” Trevor says, fondness tinting his tone and transforming into a thousand tiny butterflies in his stomach. “I can deal with this.”

Jeremy’s smile lights his entire face up, and he pulls Trevor by the collar of his shirt to meet him in the middle. His lips are soft compared to Trevor’s chapped ones, and he tastes of mint and coffee and fucking sunshine and its addictive in the best possible way. Trevor leans into the kiss, a hand almost cradling Jeremy’s waist as his other hand curls through his hair. He’s happy, he realises halfway through, his eyes closed and a smile on his face. There’s this feeling that he hasn’t felt for a long, long time rocking his mind, and he can’t quite place it until –

Oh.

There’s something horribly comical about this whole situation to Trevor, and he couldn’t figure out what it was until a boy from Boston with obnoxiously bright green hair and laughter that could fill an entire stadium with joy pulls him in for a kiss after he breaks his heart. It’s love. Or something close to it, anyway, he’s not really sure. Only that could explain why his heart is beating so fast, or how tears are wetting the corners of his eyes as he mumbles apologies into Jeremy’s lips.

He breaks away, leaning his forehead against Jeremy’s for a moment. A gentle kiss is pressed onto Jeremy’s forehead after he moves back slightly, and he hates himself more than he ever has for leaving him like this. His hands are the last things that leave him, and he feels cold and empty.

Jeremy keeps his eyes closed as Trevor steps away from him, a last apology and a promise floating through the air between them. His boots hit the floor with soft thumps, stopping briefly before resuming and fading gradually until there’s a slam of the door closing. Then, he’s gone, and the silence is suffocating.

It hits him all at once, and he lets himself crumble to the floor. It hurt – a numb, burning sensation in the centre of his chest which seems to be growing by the second, and that only Trevor seemed to be able to fix. Trevor, whose kiss felt like liquid fire running down his throat and setting everything in his body alight in the most exquisite form of destruction. Trevor, who he might never see again.

Jeremy has never been good with having faith; his sorry beginning and chaotic life had seen to that. He had always thought it best to keep his emotions tucked away neatly in a little pocket, far from harm. That’s something he shared with Trevor. They’re both scared of what could be. If they both survive this, Jeremy thinks he’d like to make that jump with Trevor.

With that in mind, he makes his way down from the roof and back to his room, where he curls into a ball on his bed. He spots one of Trevor’s hoodies slung over the back of a chair, and he lets himself cry. He cries until he can’t anymore, his cheeks stained with small tracks and his body slowly falling asleep.

He dreams of Trevor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no update, huh.  
> i am sorry for not getting back into this, life happened and messed me up but i want to write again because i've missed it and these two idiots. they're gonna suffer a lot more so don't you even worry :))  
> these updates are going to be sporadic at best: it might be updated next week, it might be next month, who knows. i'm incredibly busy with school and my personal life, but i'll do my best. i want to do these two idiotic lovebirds justice.  
> next time: someone needs to stop these boys my god stop making bad decisions  
> [my tumblr](http://http://jdooley.tumblr.com//) [my twitter](https://twitter.com/raywever)


	6. do i suffocate or let go?

Jeremy stays in his room for a week after Trevor leaves.

He doesn’t talk to anyone, dodging their carefully phrased concern and pity stained glances. It feels dirty and wrong, and he is so selfish for pitying himself when his boyfriend is out in god knows where with someone who abused him for so many years. He feels sick to his stomach when he thinks about that though, so he tries not to.

Calling Trevor his boyfriend doesn’t feel right, either. They didn’t get enough time to decide what the hell they were and here Jeremy was declaring all sorts of nonsense. Still, friend wasn’t right because they were so much more, but they weren’t quite boyfriends – they were somewhere stuck in the middle, their heads reeling from the whiplash of it all.

Mostly, he spends the week underneath his covers curled into a ball, only leaving for brief periods of time for the bathroom or to grab something to eat and drink from the fridge. There is no energy for anything else. No point in smiling or laughing or dancing now that there is a hole in his life. Something in his chest, where the strings that once made his heart beat lived, had been ripped out and clumsily filled with a sick sense of dread.

So he stays in his bed, the only place that feels safe now.

Geoff tries to get Jeremy to talk. He gets angry sometimes, frustrated at Jeremy’s silence, but he always apologises eventually. Jeremy tells him that it’s okay, but that he can’t explain what happened. He doesn’t know.

It’s a lie, of course, but Trevor made him promise and Jeremy never breaks his promises.

Jack makes sure he eats, but doesn’t press him. She seems to understand. A part of Jeremy thinks that she must know what Trevor is doing, but doesn’t want to admit it. The other part of him doesn’t want to even think about how that knowledge must be affecting her. Instead, he ignores it. Ryan’s the same as Jack really and there’s an odd sense of comfort in his stoic presence whenever he drops by with a glass of water for him. He doesn’t look at him with the same pity the others do and Jeremy appreciates that more than anything.

Michael and Gavin react in a way Jeremy could never have expected. Rather than carrying on with their usual chaotic behaviour and annoying him to death, they go quiet. Well, not completely because they’re incapable of prolonged silence, but they don’t bombard Jeremy with questions like Geoff or mother him like Jack does. They hover to make sure that he’s eating and drinking and shoot worried looks in his direction, but they don’t ask.

They get that Trevor was important to him. They know. So they stay quiet and respect Jeremy’s retreat.

Apparently, that doesn’t extend to include another week.

On the eighth day of Jeremy’s hibernation beneath his covers, Michael kicks his bedroom door open and tells him to get up. Gavin is right behind him, holding a stick of deodorant that he promptly throws at Jeremy’s head.

“What the fuck?” Jeremy groans, pushing himself upright and rubbing his eyes.

“We’re sick of you moping, Jeremy,” Gavin explains, putting his hands on his hips. “Also, you stink and I know you’re out of deodorant so here you go. You’re welcome.”

“You just threw it at my fucking head.”

“Yeah. Had to get you up somehow.”

Michael grunts and points a finger at him. “You’re stinking the whole fucking place up, dude. Get in the goddamn shower and then you’re gonna come with us.”

Jeremy gives the two a weary glance as he swings his legs off his bed, toes curling in the soft carpet. “Where to?”

Gavin grins at Michael, then back at Jeremy. “Oh, you’ll find out.”

With that, Gavin leaves followed by Michael who yells at Jeremy to be out of the shower and ready to go in thirty minutes or they’ll drag him out naked. He wouldn’t put it past them, so he shrugs, picks the deodorant up from his bed and heads toward his bathroom.

The first thing he notices when he looks in the mirror is the purple bruises embedded underneath both of his eyes. He looks like absolute shit. All he’s wearing is an old vest and a pair of boxers with far too many holes in them and they’re beyond disgusting. He lifts his right arm and sniffs his shirt before rearing back with a gag. He really does need a shower.

He looks back at his reflection and frowns. The colour of his hair has faded from lime green to a much duller shade, it’s greasy and messy and a bit too long and Jeremy is overwhelmed with the desire to shave his head.

So he does.

Five minutes later, brown and green hair surround his feet on the floor and Jeremy is looking at his freshly shaven head in the mirror. It isn’t too short, but he had cut it just enough so that no green remained. He looks different. Harsher, more worn and haggard. It’s perfect.

He shoves the hair on the floor into the corner of the bathroom with a foot, resolving to deal with it later. As he trudges into the shower and turns it on, he can’t help but think that Trevor had been the reason he shaved his head.

Trevor had only ever known him with green hair. Now, with him being gone and Jeremy being alone, it didn’t feel right. His heart hurts at the thought, so he pushes Trevor out of his head and focuses on washing himself.

When he gets out of the shower, dripping wet and reaching clumsily for a towel, he feels far more human than before. There is a sudden pang of gratefulness for his crew and he sighs softly to himself.  He dries off and leaves the bathroom, the state of his room hitting him like a truck. Clothes are piled everywhere, plates and cups littering the floor and his bed is a complete mess.

He’s gonna have to deal with that later.

He walks over to his dresser and grabs a pair of jeans, boxers and a random shirt. There’s a brief feeling of panic when he spots Trevor’s hoodie at the bottom of the drawer where he had shoved it a week earlier in a moment of hysteria and he takes a deep calming breath.

Baby steps.

Within minutes, he’s dressed and ready to go wherever Michael and Gavin are dragging him off to. He picks his phone up and shoves it in his pocket, dragging his feet out of the safety of his room and into the living room.

Gavin is lounging on the couch, feet perched on the arm as he messes around on his phone. Michael, on the other hand, is pacing up and down in front of the television, mouth curved down and arms folded tightly across his chest. When he spots Jeremy standing at the door, he stops and smiles.

“Lookin’ good, Lil J,” he laughs, gesturing to Jeremy’s freshly shaven head.

Jeremy runs a hand through his short hair self-consciously and gives him a tired smile. “Thanks. Wanted a change.”

Gavin hums and stands, eyeing him critically. “It suits you. The green looked stupid anyway.”

“Hey!”

“He ain’t wrong,” Michael says with a shake of his head. “It was too damn bright.”

“Are you just going to stand around insulting my hair all day or did you two drag me out of bed for no reason?”

The two look at each other, Michael rubbing his chin and snickering. “Nah. Too boring. Let’s go.”

With that, Michael brushes past Jeremy and strolls out of the apartment. Gavin moves to follow, but hesitates for a moment as he passes Jeremy. He gives him a nod and a soft smile that Jeremy finds himself returning. It’s a smile that says he’s sorry, that he understands. Jeremy knows Gavin would never pity him, so he allows the sentiment and is so inexplicably glad to know someone like him.

Gavin goes with Jeremy right behind him.

* * *

 

They drive for what feels like forever, but is realistically only half an hour. Michael drives, after a five-minute argument with Gavin over who should. Their bickering came to an end when Jeremy pointed out that Gavin had just crashed Ryan’s motorbike the day before, so maybe he wasn’t the best option right now. Gavin refused to talk to him for ten whole minutes.

In the car, Jeremy allows the noise to soothe the pounding in his head. The familiar sounds of Gavin and Michael singing along to cheesy pop songs on the radio, of curses as Gavin messes around and breaks something up at the front, loud laughs and snorts. He could almost forget the pain in his heart. Almost. Not quite.

Eventually, they pull up beside an old warehouse. Jeremy recognises it immediately as the Cardell. He begins to wonder if Trevor had ever been there, but shoves the thought away as fast as he can. He’s meant to get his mind off Trevor, goddammit.

Trevor had managed to imprint himself upon every atom of Jeremy’s being and nothing Jeremy did could erase that. If he never came back, Jeremy would have to live with the weight of the world on his shoulders for the rest of his life. He knew that’s inevitably what would kill him.

He jolts back to reality when a harsh knock resounds on his window. Michael opens the door and ushers him out, muttering a threat under his breath with a worried look in his eyes. Gavin doesn’t look at him as he gets out, but shoots him a smile as he shuts the door behind him.

“So, what did you drag me out here at,” he pulls his phone out of his pocket to glance at it, “ass crack am?”

Michael and Gavin grin simultaneously, like a pair of really fucked up Cheshire cats.

“Please Jeremy, it’s one o’clock, get it right,” Michael snarks, walking round to the boot of the car.

He lifts it up and starts looking for something, half of his body disappearing in the darkness.

Gavin laughs and shakes his head, “The bloody cheek of some people.”

Jeremy is just about to shoot back a retort when Michael lets out a triumphant, “Aha!” and straightens up, holding a box in his arms. Gavin moves to close the trunk for him and they turn their heads to look at Jeremy.

They really needed to stop doing things at the same time, Jeremy thought. It was going to give him a heart attack

The box is fairly large and seems to have several containers poking out from the top of it. Michael places it on the ground, crouching down next to it and rifling through the contents. When he pulls out an insanely large firework, Jeremy allows a string of curses to leave his mouth.

“What the fuck, Michael? Something that size could destroy shit!”

“That is exactly the point.”

Jeremy blinks for a second and then shakes his head with exasperation. “You guys are gonna be the death of me.

“That’s not a no,” Gavin says, giggling to himself as he leans against the side of the car.

He rolls his eyes and points a finger at Michael. “Fine. But if we get arrested – again – you can deal with Geoff. Sound good?”

Michael considers this for a second before shrugging his shoulders and tipping the box over so all of the fireworks fall out. “Sounds fair.”

It takes twenty minutes to set up all nine of the fireworks after several arguments about Michael’s decision to buy such an odd number. (“Why not just buy ten? Round it the fuck up, dude,” Jeremy had said. Michael responded with, “Because I fucking can, Jeremy.” Gavin muttered under his breath that Michael probably didn’t know how to round up, which resulted in Jeremy having to prevent a fistfight.)

When it was all set up and Michael was pulling a lighter out to start the display, Jeremy took a second to breathe. He was sitting on the hill next to the warehouse, a steep walk that was worth the view. Gavin stood next to Michael; not helping him, of course, but instead offering commentary and stupid remarks as Michael did all the work. The square was illuminated by the lighter and the flickering yellow glow of the lamps surrounding them and the world no longer felt so suffocating to Jeremy.

As the first firework goes up, they come running up the hill where Jeremy is. It’s soon followed by another and another in a way Jeremy is sure must violate some health and safety code, but can’t bring himself to care as bang after bang resounds through the night air, colour exploding in mid-air and raining sparks upon the warehouse.

Jeremy thinks he could live in this moment forever with the moon shining in Gavin’s bleached hair, reds and blues and yellows reflecting in the darkness of Michael’s eyes, the smell of gunpowder surrounding them.

He no longer feels like he is an inch from his own death.

* * *

 

The moment of peace doesn’t last for long, though. It never does.

Soon after the fireworks run out and Michael has left to grab more from the car, they spot headlights coming up the road toward the warehouse.

Toward them.

Gavin bolts upright to his feet, yanking Jeremy with him, and calls out for Michael. Michael turns his head around from where he stands below and as soon as he sees the cars approaching, he drops the box in his hands and sprints toward them.

There was a hell of a lot of cars, which spelt a hell of a lot of trouble for them.

 Oh fuck,” Michael huffs, a little breathless from the run. “We have to get out of here.”

Gravel crunches underneath tires as the cars pull into the lot. Jeremy counts six as he is dragged along back down the hill toward Michael’s car, but they come to an abrupt stop as they realise that the cars are still heading in their direction. Gavin’s hold on Jeremy’s arm tightens as his face pales and they both look at Michael in desperation.

“Where do we go?” Jeremy says, panic creeping into his voice. Michael swallows harshly and opens his mouth to say something, but no sound comes out.

Gavin lets go of Jeremy and runs a hand through his hair, glancing around for something. He points toward another warehouse less than 500 yards away. They barely get the chance to look at each other before they’re off, running as fast as they can from the headlights toward the seemingly abandoned warehouse.

Shouting emerges from behind them and Jeremy closes his eyes for a second as his feet carry him on autopilot, fear embedding itself into his veins. There is no doubt in his mind who these people are or what they want.

His feet pound against the ground as he runs and they eventually reach the front of the warehouse. Michael glances around before grabbing Gavin by his jacket sleeve.

“We need,” he pants, “to get somewhere safe. Then call Geoff.”

“What?” Gavin splutters, pulling his arm out of Michael’s grasp. “He’ll bloody kill us!”

Michael spreads his arms out, glaring at the other man. “That’s better than those assholes killing us! We need backup, Gavin – “

He’s cut off as several figures start approaching and Michael leaps forward to drag Gavin and Jeremy behind two dumpsters nearby, suitably positioned so that they can see out through a small crack in the middle of it, but the people on the other side won’t be able to see them unless they know where to look.

All three of them hold their breath and Jeremy squeezes his eyes shut tight, trying to even out his breathing and soothe the panic lodged in his throat.

Then, Michael lets out a sharp gasp and Gavin swears softly.

Jeremy lifts his head and glances at the two of them. Michael has lost all colour in his face, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide with surprise. Gavin looks the same, but with more sorrow.

He looks between the gap and discovers what has shocked his friends so badly.

His heart breaks at the sight of Trevor.

Not just Trevor – Trevor, surrounded by at least seven other people, all dressed in black with their guns out.

Searching for them, the Fake AH Crew’s Lads. For the Corpirate.

Michael tears his eyes away, slumping against the side of the dumpster quietly. Gavin does the same, glancing worriedly at Jeremy, but he doesn’t notice Gavin looking at him.

Because Trevor, somehow, has caught his eye and is now staring at him from 50 yards away.

Trevor shakes his head minutely, his eyes wide for a moment before he controls himself and allows his expression to fall flat. Jeremy can’t take his eyes off of him as Trevor says something to the group. A few members clearly disagree with him, but whatever Trevor is saying makes some sort of sense to them because they put their guns away and walk back in the direction they came from.

It is eerily quiet, aside from the crunch of gravel and gruff bickering which grows more distant. Trevor meets Jeremy’s eyes again and he mouths three clear words to him before turning around and walking away.

_“I’m so sorry.”_

No one speaks until they hear all the cars start up and pull out from the lot, bright lights shining on nothing but grass and cement and discarded fireworks. Jeremy sits down on the ground heavily, pulling his knees up to his chest and hugging them tight.

Michael stands and begins to pace, still cautious about the notion that the Corpirate’s men could return at any second. “What the fuck was that?”

Gavin pushes himself up from the floor and steps toward Michael, his hands held out reassuringly. “Michael, we have to think this through – “

“You saw the same damn thing I did!” Michael spits and Jeremy recoils slightly from the venom in his voice. “We have to tell Geoff that Trevor is working for the fucking Corpirate!”

“Maybe there’s a reason,” Gavin says, the clear desperation in his voice completely at odds with his normally confident tongue. “We don’t know the full story, we have to be logical about this.”

Jeremy leans against the dumpster as he gets up, his heart shattering at the sight of Michael staring at his best friend with a mixture of disgust and surprise.

“Are you,” he says, pointing a finger at Gavin, “ _siding_ with a traitor? After everything we’ve been through?”

Gavin shakes his head, trying to get through to him. “No, Michael, _no_. I’m just trying to say – “

“Trevor isn’t a traitor,” Jeremy bursts out, taking a step forward so that he’s in front of Gavin. “Michael, I know you’re not gonna believe this, but hear me out, okay?”

He can feel green eyes burning into his back, staring at him in disbelief. Michael raises a finger and turns to the side, running his free hand through his curly hair. For someone who is capable of such incredible joy, of laughter that could shake an entire building, his silence was terrifying.

Destructive anger, Jeremy could deal with. Fire and screams and pure chaos was okay. But silent anger? The quiet before the storm? That was a side to Michael that he hadn’t witnessed yet. And he had never wanted to, because if Michael’s destruction was bad when he was just a little bit pissed off, god knows what he was capable of doing in a situation like this.

Jeremy took the chance, doing his best to explain what Trevor was doing and emphasising the fact that he wasn’t betraying the fakes, he was trying to protect all of them. Gavin stepped up beside him and Jeremy was so grateful to have his support.

But Michael still refused to look at both of them.

When he was done and silence fell again, Michael turned back to glare at both of them.

And without hesitation, pulled his gun out and raised it against them.

In an instant, Gavin had shoved Jeremy behind him, shielding him with one arm and holding the other out to Michael in a pleading gesture.

“What the bloody hell are you doing, Michael? Listen to Jeremy, please, it makes sense.”

“Oh come on, Gavin,” Michael snarls, knuckles whitening as he grips the gun. “He’s probably in the Corpirate’s pocket, too. We both know how close they were, after all.”

Jeremy flinches, but refuses to break eye contact. Michael grins.

“Am I wrong?”

Jeremy shakes his head no. Michael nods.

Gavin stands in the middle of all this, racking his mind for anything that might diffuse Michael. Suddenly, his posture completely changes – his arms fall to his sides, his back straightens and his lips curl upwards.

“You know you’re being unreasonable, Michael.” He starts and Jeremy doesn’t recognise the person standing in front of him. Gavin Free is gone, just like that. This is all the Golden Boy.

Michael takes a small step back, the gun faltering in mid-air.

“I mean, you haven’t even turned the safety off,” Gavin continues, gesturing to Michael’s wavering weapon. “You’re not going to shoot us. You couldn’t.”

“You don’t know fucking _shit_ about me.”

Gavin laughs, low and dark, and Jeremy thinks he’s gonna be sick. “Yeah, I do. I know you won’t shoot us, so how about you put the gun away and we can have a reasonable discussion. Sound good?”

It seems for a second like Michael is going to flip the safety off and shoot Jeremy in the head, his eyes dangerously dark as he glowers at Gavin. Then he shoves the gun away and folds his arms across his chest and that fateful second is gone.

Gavin deflates, his mask falling and smashing into a thousand tiny pieces on the ground.

“Michael, I’m – “

“Save it.” Michael says, focusing again on the ground. “Just – I can’t believe you would do that to me, Gavin. You’ve never used that kind of charm on any of us.” His voice almost cracks and he turns away to walk back toward the lot where their car is still parked, but stops and looks over his shoulder at them. “You have to tell Geoff about this. About Trevor and all of this goddamn mess. I won’t be responsible for that.”

That said, Michael walks away and neither of them say anything until they hear Michael start the car and drive off.

Jeremy’s eyes well up with tears and he hurriedly brushes them away with his sleeve when he notices Gavin watching him wearily.

“Well,” Gavin says, his shoulders slumped in defeat, “we really fucked that up, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, we did.” Jeremy’s voice is coarse and tired and he fiddles with his sleeves as he looks nervously at Gavin, who pulls his phone out of his pocket and begins texting someone.

A few minutes pass and Gavin puts his phone back in his pocket, before directing his attention back to Jeremy.

“Ryan should be here in a bit. I filled him in as much as possible, but we’re gonna have to speak to Geoff as soon as we get back. He’s kinda…”

“Mad?” Jeremy finishes and Gavin nods with a sigh. “Shit.”

“Shit,” Gavin agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo boy so it has been some time since this last got updated and i don't really have any excuses that won't sound worn out so just. take this. please. it's driving me mad.  
> a huge thanks to jack aka jackbaetillo on tumblr for putting up with my sorry ass and being so supportive and helping me out so much with the editing - i probably would've quit on this fic if it wasn't for you, so thanks b <3  
> also, shout out to everyone on the LGBT for AH discord! you're all awesome and i love you guys a lot.  
> next time: idek to be totally honest but i know i'm gonna fuck with trevor more so stay tuned folks.  
> [my tumblr](http://http://jdooley.tumblr.com//) [my twitter](https://twitter.com/raywever)


	7. catch me i'm falling.

Trevor has been dealing with a migraine from hell for approximately twenty-six hours and counting.

Part of the pain could be attributed to the fact that he hadn’t been drinking enough water. Or eating, really. He’s been too busy being caught up in this whirlwind of chaos to deal with basic needs. There was a goal that he had to reach. He could drink later.

The other contributor was, of course, the Corpirate and his collection of goons. That, and the way he was currently being tormented by some guy named Stevens who, for whatever reason, held a very big grudge against him.

All Trevor wanted was to sit down and drink the strongest liquor he could get his hands on to try and get Jeremy’s betrayed expression out of his head, but nope. The second he sat down on some broken crate in the corner of the warehouse where they were currently situated, this asshole storms over.

Stevens was a small guy. Blond, with a nose that had obviously been broken in the past and a missing tooth that was visible whenever he sneered. Which was often. His voice was fairly high pitched, which was why Trevor began to find it incredibly funny that he was being yelled at by this short guy who sounded like a budget chew toy.

“Something fucking funny to you, pal?” Stevens yells, balling his fists at his side and puffing out his chest. His raised voice draws the attention of everyone in the immediate vicinity, and Trevor sighs as he pushes himself up to his feet.

He puts his left hand in his pocket and looks the smaller man over once, scoffing. “Look, dude, I’m not in the mood for a fight.”

This only appears to rile Stevens up further, as well as attracting them a small crowd.

“Why?” He growls, practically standing on his tiptoes to make himself appear taller. “You afraid?”

“Of a balding wannabe Chicken Little look-a-like? Not particularly.”

This draws some snickers from the crowd, and Trevor turns to walk away from the whole thing when suddenly Stevens grabs his shoulder, spins him around, and punches him in the face. He reels back, dazed from the blooming pain in his cheek, and stares at Stevens incredulously. The guy shakes out his fist, clearly hurt from punching bone. Fucking amateur.

“You want a fight?” Trevor snarls, rubbing his arm against his cheek and getting into a better stance. “I’ll give you a damn fight.”

With that, he curls his fists, grits his teeth and lashes out with one fist toward Stevens’ stomach. It lands and he doubles over with a gasp. Trevor upper cuts his chin, sending the smaller man spinning backwards to land flat on his ass.

Stevens scrambles back to his feet, cringing away from the crowd which has started to heckle and cheer. They’re making a lot of noise. Trevor finds that he doesn’t particularly care.

Stevens gets Trevor with a punch to the nose, but he’s tucked his thumb into his fist and a clear crack resounds through the air. He gasps in pain, and Trevor seizes the opportunity to grab him by his hair – although there wasn’t much of it, there was enough that he could get a good grip – and kicks his knees out from under him.

He falls, but pulls Trevor down with him, and they start rolling and punching. One moment he has Stevens pinned down, whacking him in the face with one hand and grabbing the front of his jacket with the other. The next, Stevens has Trevor flipped and is raining hell down upon him. Trevor bucks his hips up, tackling Stevens so that they’re back in their original position.

They’re both bloody at this point; Stevens’ nose is ruined, blood gushing from it, as well as a badly split lip and bruises already blossoming across his cheek. Trevor knows that his face is in a similar state– he can feel a growing black eye and when he brushes his sleeve against his nose, it comes away bloody.

Dammit. He really liked this hoodie.

Trevor lands another hit, and then another, and then another. Everything goes black. It feels like only a second later when a pair of strong arms tear Trevor away from Stevens. Trevor fights against whoever is pulling him to his feet, cursing and yelling, but the dude is way too muscly. Trevor hates super muscly people.

He kicks as the man pulls him in one direction. Toward the Corpirate’s ‘office’. He allows his body to go limp, dragging his feet along the concrete floor. The man carrying him grunts and throws him onto the ground when they reach the door of the saddest excuse for an office that has ever existed.

Since the warehouse had been abandoned for a while, all it had previously contained was a few dozen empty crates and its fair share of spider webs. The Corpirate had demanded his goons build him an office so that he could work in peace, and the result was two improvised walls made of wooden crates stacked up in the corner of the building. It’s almost as ugly as the Corpirate himself.

The door is a poorly attached curtain, which has an ugly pattern adorned onto it that reminds Trevor of whisky and dirty motel rooms. He hates it. It’s heavy to push out of the way and Trevor finds himself having to practically shoulder his way through.

The Corpirate is lounging in a plush armchair, feet resting on top of an oversized desk next to an expensive looking laptop. It’s a sparse space with an intimidating chill in the air that sends shivers down Trevor’s spine. There is no chair in front of the desk, so he finds himself standing before the Corpirate and fixating his gaze on the ground beneath his feet.

No one speaks for a minute or two. The silence is ghostly and Trevor can hear muffled voices from outside. He wonders if he should care if Stevens is still breathing. He doesn’t.

“I can’t figure you out for the life of me.” The Corpirate’s voice is gritty, brows furrowed in displeasure as he stares Trevor down. “First you let those asshole brats get away, and now this? It seems like you want to end up dead in a ditch.”

 _Better than being here_ , he thinks bitterly. He knows better than to say it. Silence is the best option here.

The Corpirate swings his feet down and sits forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “You gave me some bullshit reason why you couldn’t get those Fakes earlier. What are you hiding, boy?”

Trevor swallows the lump forming in his throat, fighting to keep his knees from shaking. “Nothing. I told you the truth,” he breathes steadily. “They heard us pulling up and ran for it. We were too slow. It was a mistake.”

“I don’t have time for mistakes.” The Corpirate slams his hands down on top of the oak and pushes himself up out of his chair so that he can meet Trevor’s eyes. Trevor doesn’t look away. “You have no idea what’s at stake here, you fool. My entire reputation, my livelihood, everything that I have spent so long building!”

He’s screaming at this point, finger raised and jabbing at the air, face red with rage and Trevor feels nothing.

“You did this. You ruined everything. I ought to kill you right now, you little rat- “

“I can still help you.”

The Corpirate stops, his arm falling to his side as he retakes his seat. Trevor carries on.

“I know all of the Fakes secrets. I can get you the information you need to get what you want. You were right. They don’t deserve to have what should be yours.”

Something deep inside of Trevor breaks when those words spill from his lips. A piece of Jeremy, perhaps. He is overwhelmed by the sudden knowledge that it’s too late for him. That he will most likely never see Jeremy again. Maybe that’s for the best. The last time he’d seen Jeremy, he had looked at Trevor like he hadn't recognised him. Like he was a monster. The shock and heartbreak that had blanketed his face was always present in his mind whenever Trevor closed his eyes.

If he chose to be the person Jeremy believed he was (the soft, kind hearted Trevor who would never hurt anyone on purpose), Trevor wouldn’t last a day here. He had to kill that side of him; for now, at least. After all of this is over, if he makes it out alive, he’ll try and be that person again. But he has to adapt to the situation at hand, and fast.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of the Corpirate humming. The sight of an ugly, poisonous smile creeping across his hideous face. Trevor tries to hide how he shudders at that smile.

“Alright,” the Corpirate finally says, looking Trevor up and down appreciatively. “You would be a very useful asset. But you listen to me, boy. One step out of line,” he pauses, leaning forward in his chair, “and you’re dead. Got it?”

Trevor swallows. “Got it.”

A part of Trevor switches off the second he says those words. Or dies. He doesn’t really know. He listens as the Corpirate reveals his plan to take the Fakes down, to ruin them and destroy everything they’ve built. To take his empire back. It’s a good plan. Well thought out – mostly. There were a few holes in it that Trevor knew he could exploit.

What was most disconcerting was the revelation that there could possibly be a mole inside the Fakes. Or, if not a mole, a bug in the apartment. Trevor wouldn’t put it past the Corpirate to play dirty.

Trevor could play just as dirty.

When the Corpirate asked him what he could do, Trevor said explosives. He had had some previous experience with them and besides, Michael had taught him a fair bit before they had carried out their heist some time ago.

Shit. He couldn’t really remember how long ago that heist was. Too much had happened since then. It felt like there was a deep, unfillable gap in his chest, a numbness spreading throughout his nerves. He missed them. He missed them like hell. And he had never hurt this much before.

He couldn’t afford to go right there right now. There was a plot to be hatched.

The Corpirate talks for what feels like forever; about revenge and weapon deliveries and all sorts of other bullshit. It’s impressive, really. The only other person Trevor knows that could even talk for this long is Michael –

No. He told himself he wouldn’t think about them. There was no time for it.

Thinking about Michael would lead to wondering what stupid thing Gavin had done today, what novel Geoff was currently reading. About Ryan sharpening his knives intimidatingly while Jack sang off key in the kitchen. And then there was Jeremy. Always Jeremy. Everything in Trevor’s life seemed to start and end with Jeremy.

He doesn’t know how to unlearn Jeremy’s touch, unhear the sound of his voice, his laughter. The curve of his smile or how he had to tilt his head up to meet Trevor’s eyes. He wanted to burn the memories out, scrub at his skin until it is red and raw and bloody. But even that couldn’t save him now.

And to think that he hadn’t even recognised the feeling of falling until it was too late.

* * *

 

Jeremy is seriously considering lying face down on the hallway carpet and dying.

After Ryan had driven him and Gavin home, they had been met with a stony silence from the second they stepped into the apartment. Jack was sitting on the couch, her shoulders tensed and her arms crossed. She hadn’t looked at them.

“Michael got back fine. He wouldn’t say a word to me, but I saw him talking to Geoff. He’s not happy.”

Jack was frowning in the way she only did when something had seriously pissed her off. It was never a good thing to be on the receiving end of her fury. She may be patient and kind, but she’d always had a very low tolerance for bullshit.

Which was why she would be angry at him for a long time; he couldn’t tell her the truth, and she would be able to deduce that he was lying. Jack was incredibly smart – of course she was, she planned most of their heists. She was integral to the crew because of her skillsets, but she was also Jeremy’s friend. Maybe she would realise that he was lying by the way he would avoid her keen gaze or the way the corner of his lips turned down. Whatever the giveaway was, it wasn’t going to end well for him.

He lied to her anyway.

And that’s what brought him to where he is now. Standing outside Geoff’s door at one in the afternoon sharp. He had gone to bed earlier that day, not wanting to have to look at the disappointment on Jack’s face, Ryan’s narrowed eyes or Gavin’s guilty smile.

But now he has to face the consequences. He really is not looking forward to it.

Taking a deep breath, he knocks on the door once before letting his hand fall to his side. A moment passes before he hears a gruff voice on the other side tell him to come in.

His hands are shaking. Why are they shaking? None of this is his fault, Trevor had been the one to insist upon the stupid idea to take the Corpirate down for good. Stupid, self-sacrificing Trevor. Oh, how Jeremy hates how much he loves him.

Jeremy opens the door, making a conscious effort to control his breathing. He has no idea what he is going to say.

Geoff’s room is a mess. It strikes a chord within Jeremy, the wrongness of it setting off every alarm bell he has. What is usually a decently organised space now looks as if a miniature tornado had run rampant. Books are half open on the ground, carelessly shoved into every nook and cranny, and piled precariously one on top of another. Geoff loves his books. That’s the first red flag.

The second is in the form of the papers strewn haphazardly over Geoff’s desk. They cover nearly every square inch of space and Jeremy can barely read what is written on them. Some of them are written in what is clearly Geoff’s handwriting; the distinctively large scrawl and spidery shaped letters unmistakably his. Others are typed with bold titles and have been annotated vigorously in red ink. His laptop lies underneath a particularly large clump of papers, closed.

The third and final red flag is Geoff himself. The way his shoulders are slumped in defeat, how he leans back in his chair and sighs when Jeremy enters. The lines on his forehead seem to be more pronounced than ever and he looks at Jeremy as if he barely recognises who he is. His jaw is clenched.

Three strikes, and he’s out.

“Jeremy,” Geoff says, folding his hands on the desk, “sit down.”

He does so, praying that the ground beneath his chair would somehow open up and swallow him whole. It doesn’t. Bummer.

Geoff rubs a hand over his face and reaches under his desk, grabbing a mug that must have been placed on the floor. He takes a sip, carefully scrutinising Jeremy.

Jeremy breaks the silence by, as usual, saying something completely inappropriate for the situation at hand.

“Is that whiskey or rum?”

“Don’t be insensitive. I stopped drinking a few weeks back.” Geoff sets the mug down on top of some papers, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh shit, I didn’t – how did I not know this?” Jeremy feels his cheeks go red with embarrassment, mentally scolding himself for already making things awkward.

“I haven’t exactly been hiding it. I guess you were just busy with other things.”

That makes him feel like shit. How he had not only missed something so important – and it was, because alcohol was so fucking hard to kick – but how it had really helped Geoff. He looks better. Lighter. Sure, he was always going to be stressed out to hell and back, but he appears healthier than Jeremy has ever seen him.

And he had missed all of that because he was too caught up in his own little world. Jeremy had never thought of himself as a selfish person until now, but in this moment, he is the scum of the earth.

“I’m sorry, Geoff,” he breathes, rubbing his sweaty hands on his thighs. “But hey, that’s good!”

Geoff allows himself a tiny smile directed at his own hands. “It is.” His smile fades as he looks back up at Jeremy. “That’s not what we’re here to talk about, though.”

Jeremy doesn’t say anything. He isn’t sure if there is anything he could possibly say that would make a difference now.

“You need to tell me exactly what Trevor has done. You need to tell me what happened last night that was so bad Michael came back shaking and refusing to speak to anyone. Why you’ve barely left your room since Trevor left.” He takes a breath, shaking his head. “I need to know everything, Jeremy. Otherwise I can’t do anything to help you.”

He’s speechless. Huh. On a typical day, Jeremy would never run out of things to say. He always had a response lined up, a new idea already formed, his thoughts bouncing around at a rapid pace in his mind. But this isn’t a typical day, and he is left clueless and floundering in the coldness of the room’s atmosphere.

There are no words to describe the choice Trevor made. To explain why – Jeremy doesn’t even know why. Or rather, he does. He just doesn’t understand it. But Geoff is waiting, like a fuse ready to be lit, and Jeremy cannot lose his family as well. He’d rather die.

Gazing at a spot on the floor, he opens his mouth before promptly shutting it again. Why is it so hard for him to do this? He has to tell Geoff. He has no other choice. It’s not breaking his promise – it’s stopping Geoff, his boss, from exploding. “I don’t know how to – it’s a lot, Geoff.”

Geoff stares at him, regarding him analytically. “Good thing I have a lot of time, then.”

That’s when Jeremy starts crying.

What begins as a single tear escaping the corner of his eye quickly turns into a downpour. He slaps a hand over his mouth and screws his eyes shut, cursing himself for breaking down like this. Trying to keep the sobs in proves to be futile – it is a violent, loud noise which erupts from him. His body is trembling, his other hand gripping his shirt and he leans forward in an effort to stop the tears.

Anger rises in him. He’s pathetic. Crying in his boss’s office because of his – because of Trevor. Sure, this had been a long time coming, considering everything he had bottled up inside, but it doesn’t mean that he isn’t furious at himself for losing control.

In the middle of his impromptu pity party, he looks up to find Geoff suddenly kneeling in front of him. His eyes are tight and worried, his mouth curled down in a frown as he gently places a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Geoff says softly, “you’re okay. You’re okay.”

Jeremy shatters.

Geoff pulls Jeremy in for a hug, shushing him tenderly and rubbing small circles into his back as he sobs on Geoff’s shoulder. It feels like he is being ripped to shreds from the inside out, the fabric of his lungs tearing apart at the seams. Everything is too much. And he can’t do this alone anymore.

Pulling back from Geoff’s embrace and avoiding his gaze, Jeremy tells him everything. The whole story. The words spill from him, and he tells him about how he had started to care about Trevor, how scared he had been that day Michael had been injured but he had thought it was all over then. How terrified he was when Murphy’s dead body had appeared outside their apartment, his concern for Trevor, their near kiss.

That, after the heist had gone wrong and he had been injured, Trevor had started growing distant and Jeremy had known what he was about to do. He had known and he hadn’t done anything about it because he didn’t want to acknowledge that it was real. Because maybe, if he ignored it and was good enough for once in his life, that Trevor wouldn’t make that choice. That Trevor would stay. But he didn’t.

Whilst Jeremy talks through his tears, Geoff doesn’t say a word. He just observes, calmly, the lines around his eyes tight. He listens as Jeremy tells him how much he blames himself, how he hates himself for not being able to stop Trevor from leaving and that’s when Geoff holds up a hand to stop him.

“Okay, I know I need to be listening and I am,” he pauses, making direct eye contact with Jeremy, “but you need to know that isn’t true. None of this is your fault.”

Jeremy tries to disagree, but Geoff waves his hand in dismissal. “It isn’t, Jeremy. Trevor made his own decisions. He’s responsible for that. Not you.”

Logically, Jeremy is aware that Geoff is right. And fundamentally, Jeremy is a logical person. It’s that tiny part of his brain though, the bit that screams doubt and blame and shame. It’s roaring in his head and he cannot quiet its voice. Geoff is there, at least, and Jeremy finds some solace in him. He nods, and Geoff seems to deflate.

“Alright,” Geoff pushes himself off the ground and leans back against his desk. “We need to talk about what we’re going to do.”

“What – what do you mean?” Jeremy’s voice is cracked and breathy, and he finds himself grimacing at the sound of it.

“Did he say how long his plan was going to take?”

“No. He just said he had to do it himself. He – he knows where all the warehouses are and everything. Said it would be easier to bring it down from the inside and that we shouldn't get involved.”

Geoff sighs, rubbing his chin. “That sounds like Trevor.” He takes a moment to parse the new information over, his eyes going slightly unfocused. “Here’s the deal. We let this whole thing play out – “

“Wait, what? That’s way too dangerous – “

“Don’t interrupt me.” Geoff glares at Jeremy who hastily shuts up. “Right. We let Trevor’s plan play out. Guessing on how predictable the Corpirate is, he’s probably going to target our next heist. Which is why we need to be careful. The second any of the crew are put in harm’s way, that’s when I’ll act. And before you say anything, Trevor is a part of the crew. But he decided to go off and attempt this on his own. He can deal with the consequences of it.”

“That’s fair.”

And it was. Jeremy got it. That didn’t make it any easier. He stands, nodding at Geoff and offering him a small smile, which he returns. His head aches as he walks away, stopping short when Geoff clears his throat.

“Be careful, Jeremy.”

It sounds like a plea. Jeremy glances over his shoulder and Geoff doesn’t meet his eyes. He says, “I’ll try, Geoff. Thanks.”

He thinks about consequences as he shuts the door behind him and makes his way to his room. Maybe his punishment for his role in all of this was how he felt right now, this guilt slowly eating away at him.

Michael, who had finally left his suite for the living room, is sitting next to Jack on the couch. Their eyes meet for a moment, before Michael snarls and rips his gaze away. Jeremy hastens his steps.

Gavin is nowhere to be found, which means that he’s either up at the roof garden, locked in his room, or has gone out to do something stupid. Considering that Jack would murder Gavin if he went out without telling anyone, especially right now, it had to be one of the first two options.

Jeremy couldn’t bear to go to the roof garden. Not right now. And besides, Gavin probably needed some time to himself. It was Jeremy’s fault that Michael wouldn’t talk to him. Jeremy caused the Golden Boy to threaten his best friend. That would take some time to heal.

He doesn’t think they have much time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slides in months late with a smoothie and throws you this trash*  
> if you're still reading this just know that i love you because god have i lost faith in my writing ability. thanks, depression!  
> everyone should go tell jack aka jackbaettillo on tumblr that they're the best person ever because i probably would have lost my mind writing this chapter if it wasn't for them.  
> i have no clue when i'm gonna be able to finish this because university is so draining (i got in btw!! yay!!) and my mental health is very fragile but i'm trying!!  
> next time: gonna make jeremy cry MORE that was real fun  
> [my tumblr](http://http://jdooley.tumblr.com//) [my twitter](https://twitter.com/raywever)

**Author's Note:**

> this is something I've been planning for a while, and I'm actually pretty excited for it! I'm not sure how long this is going to be, but I know roughly what is going to happen, so that's pretty good for me.  
> also, disclaimer: there's a reason why this is saved as the Hell Fic in my computer. you'll see.  
> [my tumblr](http://eylsewillems.tumblr.com/) [my twitter](https://twitter.com/raywhatevers)


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